My love you are the religion of bones
a secret language tossed in the drums of their vision and oracle--
etched porcelain white in search of their Creator.
You reconnect to the life giving waters
calling from towers.
pale fate, tiny atoms that crystallize you into being
on the chance of colliding fire, hot comets
a shroud of voices from the same body of darkness
touch the origins to your life
in the sweeping winds
that grazes your skin
like ghostly figures on the rise of the
moon
--still a part of you--
even as you fade.