Notes From a Psychopomp


crossing over painting

The air breathes
And the air speaks to itself
In ritual speech
One word can change you into a spring rain
Furnish you a flower for a swift life
Or a long oak belly down on the earth
Bleeding into it with fertile wounds
Passing without foothold
Through shifting realities
Tethered clouds to the soul
Between each barb on the wire
Enough room to bend your way out
What keeps you in what keeps you out
I paddle across streams of consciousness
Where light and shadow swim
Where the dark ones in dream time
Hunt for the soul’s unconscious
Drowned in the deep sea of memory and storm
A vermilion scrap heap of captains
Capsized in the blood
I have been made a porthole
In the watery membrane between worlds
A dancer who hears your vascular song
Stepping along the inner threads
Persuade in sound and beauty
Your shadows into the ground
To keep your birds in the sky
The colors you have grown
Prayers in a bundle
Of stone and earth and moving sky
The starry course for the lost and dead
Roaming this world and the other

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