As Nature Retakes the Crash Site

​

Burst 

plastic

and glass glints

glowingly like 

blood diamonds stuck in

sewn skeletal roots and 

bloodied tips of the fingers 

that will pour outward for a year, 

unending under unto the soil

that roots the tree and holds the cold body.

These eyes deny; try to rationalize, 

surmise and anesthetize the bomb, 

the jagged potent pill that sits 

above the throat but below 

the tongue that cannot speak.

Poison to the touch, 

it touches you.

The unreal 

becomes 

real.

Death!

O thief

beast and bane, 

bastard between 

Big Bang and binding, 

who stalks the bands and 

bedrooms; lurking where one may 

lay their heart hearth and homestead,

hungry and hardened, so I beseech 

you: who on earth gave you the rite to steal? 

Now this violent silence blankets both our 

amps, a woven weighted black shroud, I 

regret each missed note I can’t fix 

O I’d sever my fingers 

to strum with you again; 

to right the wrongs then 

fold in a bow, 

though now you’re 

somehow 

gone.

Ropes 

dangle 

from above 

loose ends swaying 

like bouquets of pale 

promises; too scattered 

by the cleaving scythe to tie 

again. Old hope drains in a grey 

whirlpool; wide winding whirling wildly

on its way down the drain and out of reach. 

Though, now, you must braid new knots and answers;

gather the wreckage at the solstice 

as nature retakes the crash site,

for moonlight is just sunlight 

by which you’ve grown to see.

Pour the malt cement, 

mark the chapter,

close the book, 

with love

now.