Friday, May 22, 2015


Plane trees and hydrangeas
shade vixens beneath a nubile
moon. Their cackle torments
the dreaming dog.

I fish frogs from the pool water. 
Hawk shadow imprints the surface,
talon awaiting feast as the world sleeps.

If only I were a tree I'd know how to rest alone, 
or a stone enduring what it is to be.
Or fog so I learn how to dream.

    in outposts on the border
    where habits and codes unravel,
    earth's dark faith seeks light,
    shadow and salvation

Trees know no time,
They can stand alone.
Spring leaves grow in old bark, 
writing untold stories.
Seeding and reaping,
the day traces my shadow like 
raindrops in night's dry mouth.
This world marks me
with blood and dust,
putting grit in my teeth
to grind, teaching its harsh
lesson of survival.

    find your way in ice and snow,
    doubt, distrust, and heart's deceit
    in pilgrimage to unknown worlds 
    from outposts at the border

Sweeping urge
to clean up dust at the door -
bring me to the crypt,
cauterize my wound
with a life to erect,
or remains to discard.

    I want to be born
    in new worlds
    and burn from my brain
    the faces of lie
    and despair in this one.

Copyright 2015 Charles David Miller All rights reserved

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