Sunday, January 27, 2013

compensation for loss

there was a need for wide open space and visible breath.
the swamps were calling.
 i answered the call with neglected camera
 and hopes of messenger birds.
 there were none except for crows.


there is something un-nameable
 and ancient awakening within.
it seeks to slowly rise
 and wave with willows
on nightfall's breeze.

it is the witch,
 the goddess,
 the oncoming crone.

it is the bitter taste of knowledge found
 in the depths and heights of letting go
of foundations, love and resistance.

it feels like compensation for loss.
proof that yes, all matter is energy
and energy only and ever transforms.

it is the gold-plated ticket 
to the exclusive, elusive night circus.

i stand at the gate, 
willow switch in hand,
not quite ready to join. 


  1. oh. that gate. you get to stand there as long as you wish. let that which is un-nameable rise in its natural time.

    i thought your swamps were made of sand and then i realized . . . snow. and i thought even the messenger birds need to stay cozy sometimes. spring will come.

    i like your shadow there, and i like the bit of red in the trees.


    1. the shadow tree is the willow. my magical switch was its winter gift to me.

      oh, you adorable southern belle. :) a sandy swamp in january...

      xoxo thank you for always visiting me.


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