Whereas the grid in hand
Is worth the Stone
The hum and thrum
The pulse of being
Gieas heart beneath me feet
I bend again to place me
Ear to ground
Me face to sand n brine
N flow to other times
In present past

If heart should serve me well
Then one must surly tell and sea
The wave of tidal breath
That moves the shift n grind

And with the sound
The Word
A birdie call is heard
Tremulous and shrill
As if the force of nature streams to closing

"Angels hear me all !
Rise the Aark of Coven!
Let the Song of Songs begin!"

While few and far between
Dispersed
In random dark
With passion
Opens up the heart
Lovers all
Have heard Creations call
To gnu Beginnings

The haunting of a new design
Placed present in the lift o wings
Few birds
Left high among the branches of the coming season’s
Lifting of the blood
Perhaps a futile call to flight
Or night
Where hunger rules

Atop the rock in the sun
I rest
Fur warmed and stroked with textured tongue
A paw to clean the residue of
Hunting from my lips
Free filaments o pollen off me whiskers
For the spacing of the day

Some resident gray rodent
Butterfly or bird
Might be the newest prey
I say
A shattered growl
To those
That just might venture to this thrown
Without a veil or treasure of their own
Fair charge to dragon dungeons
Chains to hold us here
Be fearful
Find
And force the path to new directions of the heart
Then
Pet me if you dare

the little quakes
more of a rocking motion
flowing fields as if a gentle breeze
had stirred their stance
but what breeze brings
about
the barking dogs
the squirrels to trees
the rabbits to their wholes
or Sets the steeds to dust n thunder

painted eye of hours
bent to
count
the ladders prongs