Priestess of the Howling Wood

howlingwood

I hear the trees as instruments

as a Sunday hymn blessing Mother Earth

I feel the loaming heartbeat intense

while the birds call lullaby vespers

I am the tug of moon-pulled tides

with sermon words unfettered

Through and about the indigo skies I ride

Skyclad, adorned with galaxies and stars; together

I hear the forest’s deepest secrets kept

accepting its confessions as I should

with spells more true than of an adept

as a Priestess of the Howling Wood

Blue Gene

The thundering rain roiled violently in the warm November night

striking the man with sheets of his plight

He, on his knees on the side of the road,

had arms raised like and above his face

a thousand cries towards mercy

In supplication he wailed at the haunt of cars

A woman rushed to his side.

She didn’t touch him, but she united her voice with his prayers

He staggered to his feet as wings offered him passage

His breath of prayer accounted for, he was warmly embraced

He sobbed his shame into his cupped hands

while apologizing for his humanity

The chariot released him to the cross of spirits

easing his ailing heart.

He is loved.