They died last year and
Some just now, in the
cold and the snow of darkness
or the ending of the year when the leaves fell golden and discarded
My dreams are now of dead people
When once they were of shining living cells,
now all is Medicine
and Spirit and messages of
hope, magic, poetry,
A life cut short, or a life wrapped up in fear
They are the worst because
being tightly swaddled by a smothering blanket
impotent
They could never get free and
They lived as if they were already dead
Although you wouldn’t know that from the
prattling priest’s irrelevance
Then, time passes and
A task is ahead, undertaken and loved,
share our gifts, gifts bestowed to all
Build a longer table! Share, the message.
The car wouldn’t start.
Going nowhere and the cold frost is serious now
She rescues me,
all warm and alive and smiling
part of me knows I should have walked home
felt the night and the frost seep into my living bones
heard Owl, maybe startled a hungry fox.
Maybe.
Death clings
Grief needs moonlight and frost
to freeze the tears onto my cheeks
And I should have walked home
Nwyfre 