Church of the wild

 

Her words, a glass ball
rolling around my skull

haunting the mattress
that has bled through.

Each word showing up in ways
an eye couldn't focus upon,
the cycle coming to a close
and a body gone, far from
all it has ever known
into wilderness

out of sight, out in night,
no misunderstandings
or villages shining
their yellow lights

here it is; a body, a soul
moving on it's own terms
without expectations
from other creatures

here it is, her words,
the path laying deep
in blood, ribboning
around the bones

walking
forward.