speak in scent. text in fungi. laugh in pollen and seldom stray from meditation.

His servants pulled him through the postern gate To ride in shadows to a waiting ship

an instant sharp pain somewhere near the heart and sudden ringing in the ear when no bell tolls

my shiver-feathered fly like prayer arcing sinking through the air

May the poem, grasped and penned, be the Grail sustaining hearts healed for a spell

Throughout the waiting house We’ve strewn our mangers. Maybe This year we’ll find one baby.