Dissonance of a dream.

the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon

into the mellifluous hunger in each haze, 

a new mother of spring,

the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood 

broken between each finger

and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath

across the perennial wound that dispels 

with the rain and alluvium

struck with the heavy winter, a shell to bind me to you,

in the slumbering absent whisper of humanity, 

the vagrancy of a dream

I’ve held these dreams alone—fragmented in soulful waltz,

a footfall with death 

in the bleak snow, forming a solitary fog

among the ocean lines—

living in the twilight and the marshes,

the dissonance of a dream; 

overlooking the silence of solitude,

ecstasy of the shepherd’s song 

of the sheep in the cypress shade

listening to the sacrifice of the portent

of the dark voice, midsummer,

frosted in a monody—of what remains, these ties are done,

the pale spring, the blue precipice 

above the living ocean

for I carve my desires, as they hover over time

shocked from the dance of blood and wings, cruel in nature,

I have drifted alone, 

the wilderness in the leaf of the catkins, 

the dominion of thrush upon the snow—white winter, 

leaving out our bones as they stir 

off the shore.

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