My sadness is the ghost living in the skeleton of a house that hasn't felt life in years

I want a
companion, too

someone to
consume me with
his fire
over
stories, flutes of
port

someone who can
read his
bible without
believing what he
sees
and likes the sound
the thunder
makes when
it drapes over
the trees

I want a
companion, too
to share this
sorrel time

to think my eyes
are portals
& to be my
paradigm.

"The truth is, that giddy butterfly in-love feeling? It goes away. And all that's left is friendship. You have to ask, is my lover my best friend, because in the end that's all that's left"

Gather the crowberries for the windfeast.

Adorning our cheeks with ochre
                       we gather together
                       a throne of old rowan.

The staggards behind us ;
                       warm breath at our napes.
                       We are as careful as a circle.

So a keening for the wild flightsman,
                       the hewer of stone, blood-iron hearted,
                       now dead as a distant star
                       that points the way of smoke, of fire.

But for a moment the wind resides.

Tell me the stories I haven't heard yet
While they're fresh on your mind so that you don't forget
I'll memorize every line and tell it just like you did
Long after you're gone I'll tell them how you lived

I'll write you a letter each year on the day
And lay it with roses at the site of your grave
I'll ask the same question in gods name I pray
It reaches you in some impossible way