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shiloh Sep 2015
The sea was cold and my blood was hot;
O storm of all that I am not,
Carry my cry to meet the king,
Turn my heart a salty thing --
          Before he finds me sinking.
The moon was old and the night was new;
The stones were soft, and I dreamt of you.
Lord of blood and love and bread,
Lord of all I never said --
          And you will find me sleeping.
The fire was sweet and cooled my blisters;
The dust was discreet and spoke in whispers.
Quiet eyes to strike with wonder;
Blessed birds do crow in thunder --
          And I have found myself weeping.
shiloh Sep 2015
It's not my place
To weigh the truth
In all the things you said.
I merely know the feeling of
Your footprints in my riverbed.
December 2013
shiloh Apr 2015
Wind from the north and the sky aches with gray
But whether wisdom comes with age is not for me to say

The air as still as forests, the sky as my soul is blue
Somewhere is a river where the berries grow for you
shiloh Sep 2014
Midway into summer and the night is coming on
A windy, wet non seuqitur I meet a moment long

Trees bow low, the pious souls, their anxious branches beckoning
The desperate would sell me for a covenant with lightning

The night awakes in light the day can only dream about
No worlds have ever heard the roars of such a broken drought
shiloh Aug 2014
winter

I sit upon your wooden bones
And breathe you, sigh for sigh
Feed the only heat (like hunger)
That made it through the night

spring

You climb the branches of my tree
And grapple at my budding hips
You rest below my nest of hair
To catch your breath between my lips

fallen

You overturn my inner earth
Where saplings of these stories grow
Their roots exposed to face the sun
Inside the soil of my soil
Campfire love song
shiloh Aug 2014
You have opened all the valves
Of my attention.
Your hands stain with my rust.

My frame
It wakes
In dust.

You're getting good at setting up
Your spotlight and your stage.
The subtle flick
Between your lips
Reaches out to turn my page,

And my imagination
Rattles in its cage.
shiloh Jul 2014
vi.
A tangled heart
Is a work of art
Sweet, deliberate, crochet.
Spare no thoughts
That the prettiest knots
Must all unravel someday.
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