Wednesday, July 8, 2009

molly, you.

the shaman
the electric hope
burying into your death
medicine woman
you run with wolves now
you type
my type
in roads
where you have gone
in lilacs
in the light cast bright yellow
over green willow leaves
that hang in front of your home
hanging in sorrow
bending down and brushing
from my eyes
taking your years out to the water
to Deneb
where I will crawl to at night
to curl into the stars
and feel your warmth
to bleed into the earth
so that you can feel mine

the pieces you have left inside of me
have grown into greatness
swelling in your loss
beating in my heart
in the echo of my chest
collapsing with each breath
I can hear your song
I can hear your voice
guiding through my childhood
you out
from inside of me
paint your face visible
have your hand to hold
through cut gloves
my love for you
pouring into the empty night
sucking the heat from my body
into the nights I lay
in the green room
now more than ever
I can feel
the pillows and blankets
I can smell the aging home
seasons are churning
changing inside of my stomach
every second
pouring rain
dead crunching leaves
a bit frost
for the days spent inside
my recluse
my writer
the books stacked along
the walls around you
will weigh heavy
in my sleep tonight
and every night
I will burn a page
I will eat its words
and spill them
into dreams
for you

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