even then, full of the noise of swimmers and a flotilla of inflatables, the goose flew close to her reflection – the white on her wings bright in that dark water. and for a moment all was quiet but the sound of her flight breathing the day. …
puff adder calls an end to summer beautiful in her new skin scales hoping to find a winter home in the hollow roots of old elder.
let the day fade and seep its wild orange between the trees. let the darkening sky stretch with bat addled flight until even their flickering silhouettes shadow between the stars. and when night falls, as fall it must, i shall wear it soft as mothwing around my shoulders. there can be no fear, this path…
would it matter if the old gods no longer owned the sky, or if the gods had new names with photos in the paper and childhoods somewhere tame. would it matter if the infinite light of stars became transient – constellations linear, mobile. would it matter if between the heavens and hell was just…
well of course i want sun on skin in the morning while the sky shifts to autumn blue and days still sing of summer