Imbolc

Ghosts of your body dart about me as  
lambs bleeting,
the ceaseless alarm calling, expanding on a Northern breeze, chopped before meeting  
the compassionate ear,  
thinning,  
thinning  
into strawberry dusk.  
And you extend  
as stretched, white plumes tumbling the sky with endless fascination,  
covering and exposing a blinding reality  
that you'll disperse  
leaving clearer skies.  
And sometimes you're the petals of a snowdrop  
loosely rocking on my flat, left palm, never the less I love you  
and your struck bones  
crumpled as cardboard  
yet healthier without me.