Into the Sun

I cannot say I am unhappy  
nor discontent sharing  
peace between distance  
 
There's an unconditional  
Spirit here I vaguely remember  
an undefined ethereality  
 
Silent reveries stare back  
from the anchored landscape  
the fragility of winter survival  
 
It surrounds the paralysis  
of a Heron over the stream  
its stance a frozen instinct  
 
Trees in the forest hibernate  
trunks swarming with ants  
hives hang thick as molasses  
 
A sky of dingy cotton, veiled  
and heavy lowers its face in prayer  
a widow's lonely obeisance  
 
I breathe in a pristine truth  
on the edge of this burial ground  
release parts of me in return  
 
Watch them dissipate  
as a murder of crows  
to the naked copse of crowns  
 
Your boots crush the bones  
of grass resting in their ivory  
cemetery behind me  
 
A blanket spreads its wings  
becomes a great eagle over  
my shoulders, pecks my cheek  
 
Pulls me against the warmth  
of its leathered breast alerting  
me to dropping temperatures  
 
There is heavy accumulation  
across the mountain pass  
navigation will be tricky  
 
I contemplate leaving early  
but you read my mind fold  
me in tighter and whisper  
 
"Whenever you're ready  
Ghigau, you're right
where your blood belongs"  
 
Some day soon I'll answer  
as to if I'll stay or why I must go  
but not now or even tomorrow  
 
Upwards a blue spill soaks through  
the grey-laced tablecloth of clouds  
I snap a photograph before it melts  
 
As we turn to make our way home  
the Heron takes flight into the sun  
~