The Feather Seed

 

 

 

 

 The Feather Seed

(a 55)

There was a feather;

it grew from my eye until

it was my eye.

There was a word.

It grew from my quill until

it was a wing.

There was a seed;

it grew from the soil of

every word decaying, until

it was a tree where 

quilled birds sang

like candles in the dark.

August 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 posted for 

The Sunday Muse

hosted by Carrie Thackery Van Horn

and 

 

 

Sherry Marr's 

Rewilding challenge at earthweal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fire Bones

 Fire Bones

The corpse on the hearth

 knows the system

of a fire. From the

thin branch wrists

flame fingers tickle air

fire hair streams

up in smoky wind

amber gold;

nothing so alive as fire

till it licks up all the dead that

it can burn.

Only beyond the room

sometimes

twilight ejaculates

a great arc that driving downwards

burns the  world

before it dies;

earth eats storm

at tree's crown,

the fine full head catches

the skin splits

from top to root

and system

alters system

forever.

~April 2013

Hover mouse for image attribution, or click on pic to go to photographer's flick'r page.