On Death, gifts and Guides

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

 

 

 

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