Monday, October 31, 2011


Over the silver gleam of tram tracks
rolls a brown scuffle of rhododendron leaves.
On their surface harsh lessons,
scratches and black bruises written
with the Cailleach’s icy fist.

Storm goddess forging steel sharp branches
to pierce the bleached sky,
to rain rustbleed on white walls,
she ushers in the new year.

With the light’s slow withdrawal
down red chimney bricks,
her shroud obscuring creation
from spirit thins,
allowing her rough dreams
to touch our world.

Whispers brush by,
mistaken for the hymn of a distant train.
Their hoar-gray kisses
burning the exposed foliage,
they pursue us over unedged paths,
invisible footsteps dancing
on frosted blades of grass.

Golden weeds bend seed heads
in time to their private banter.
We rush throughout the garden
unaware of their presence,
their laughter chasing us
as we retreat
to the city’s concrete song.

With the haze of dawn
they coil around roots to sleep away
another year in frozen earth.
The rill sings a lullaby,
closing the circle of the year.

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