Borders

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