A door in the dark

I am learning that the moon need not speak your name. Crows hover over your memory, waiting, wings extended, tending to the gusts of wind. I am crazed hooting around the bonfire: let them come! Let them tear this thought away and lead the spewing dark and smells and wild laughter around us over to the ramping Ghats. Let us hear our ancient languages speak to us again in silence. Let the hair down and the smells crack asunder. Let the blood ripple as if oil paints around this pilar where an offering awaits. Change the course, drink the poison, drown yourself in your innate and be gone. It is torn. It is rotten. Come forth slugs, come forth I say, and free me of this thought. Let the moonlight drape this scene in quiet.
fiddle the sky
tickle the air
and dream a dream that's yet to come

photo by Maria M.