godspell

I. call

Lost again - 
there’s nothing behind my eyes - 
I interred myself beneath the day
the week, 
the decade of winter
and trying to keep everyone happy.

I am here now,
at your doorless home,
so you can tell me 
what to do
who to be
why every dreamkiss is cold and thin
why everything
is the color of the moon on a mothwing.

II. response

Your lonesome
whistle and sigh
briefly eternal
is gesso
is a gasp
before the hardly begun song.

And I’m glad you’re here
I love you and your trembling.

I’ll tell you what the deer dreams in the birchroots:
she dreams
she wakes
to gather twigs and pinecones
to earthwork
to build an eye
on the forest floor
with these things which once thought themselves 
birds because they knew
only sky - 

she dreams that she sleeps
in the center of the eye
and the earth believes 
she is starshine.