Burying Bones Delirium slung
from a sliver of moon
another dream
scarcely known
nearly forgotten
a star cradled
in a palm
of warm silver glitter
upon a restless crimson horizon
dreaming
Where will you go
when the oceans move you?
who can say for certain
how far one can drift?
drift past yesterday
today and tomorrow-
ocean tides
may return you someday
to wash upon this windswept shore
alone and weary
like driftwood aged
weathered and brow beaten
Morning yawns
and stretches rays of light
across the face of the world
I catch dew drop in my hand
smear it across parched lips
and savor the taste of ocean saline
a breath of wind brings
such sweet news;
cedar and sea born scents
entice the senses
as the sound of life
stirs within a protective womb
of my earthly mothering.
As seasons pass by
camouflaged
slightly undetected,
a hint of spring can be seen
lily of the valley's white frilled bells
dwarfed at the foot of giant red cedars
dance in poetic rhythms
with a cool morning breeze
they chime in the new day
muted
against the rustle
of black-berry brambles
a raccoon
masked marauder
of the evading darkness
sits in his barb wired fortress
washes his hands clean of guilt
The wolves shall come here soon
to howl
under a gypsy full moon
to look out over the sea
as the seasons change
they wait fang and claw concealed
for a bone
when the night moon calls
to run with the pack swift and cunning
and disappear into the voice of the wind
If the morsels were only musings
I'd feast on my kill
gnaw upon bone and pick clean the
flesh and leave no trace for scavengers
I'd quench the thirst of my yearnings
And drink from this stream of consciousness
I'd forage through perceptions
then mark my territory
and call it my own
I'd gather my soul
scattered in fragments
form a neat pile, look over my shoulder
to make sure I'm safe and unseen
press it into corners of my mind for later
dig a hole
bury a bone.
Michael Spencer McNee
Copyright
May 2003