.

erasing                                                       ­                   
  he rubbed and grubbed himself out  groinally
built up  with huffs and gummings of dead skin
                      all over his body
 in his mind  mothy thoughts                    
                                    became dust laden              
      and a glut of clay amassed in the gut
  all this in tomb   with his sole role  and room          

  tut-tut   he did it to himself
this is his wealth  and his jury
  peers back through time  into the wound
                              kick started it all
with excessive candy consumption   and aggressive firestarting
                     and compulsive theft   and blendlessness and obliving
ever worried    ever unmended
   arc back through the heart
         and refine the child
                as unfeigning          
                   and correctly naive

As the sun sets
And the moon
climbs high
Into the night,
Casting a
translucent sapphire
glow across the land.

I warm my bones
beside the fire.

The solitude speaking
to my very soul.

A child of the night
howls to its lover moon,
I howl back,
and for a moment
two lone wolves
are united
In song.

I drink my coffee
And listen to
His cries I share
His pain.

But do not howl back.
I leave him to his
Mourning.

For just this night
In reflection of fire
and moonlight.

I am at peace with
the world.

How I miss that sycamore now. It’s gnarled and twisted yet perfectly elegant branches, crowding around me, holding me in my solitude.

Unconditional love that roots deep into the ancient soil of this place of moss and myths, surrounded me and pushed through layers of old leaves to get to me.

In that place, with those that live from earth, I feel welcomed home. Whenever I return there it feels permanent, a settled soul that had found its space in this, the damp side of the valley