(no subject)

[scottobear]

I am breath and plastic,
and no predators
wait in the tall grass
and no men come to burn my village

to make me grow meat around my words.

The time of sharpened bone
and polished bone
is long past
and will not come again.


But I can see my heart:

it is hung huge in the sky
reflecting the world, mapping it
for my eyes

it is sprawled high in the mountains
beating the darkness, splashing it
toward my feet.


And in a time
without kings or carvers

I know I can follow
misty sliver
or meandering stream

And remain not safe
not safe
but awake in the night.

Comments

[peradouro.livejournal.com]

nice, thanks