Ghost Dancing

 

My endless winter
followed our eternal summer

Our folly
the biting blue wind

hoar-frost
on my cheeks and eye-lashes

this chill air
dances as we once did

whispers, while I freeze
there is no one left who knows…

Who knows to dance
like the cosmic moths in the harvest moon light
(yet to fire we go also)

Who knows to dance
like the otters playful roll at sea
neverminding of the cruelty lurking beneath

Who knows to dance
upon the graves of ancestors
in praise of all that is

Who knows to dance
in the hum of knowing crowds, like fallen wasps;
the dance of forgetting

Who knows to dance
enjoy the dirt
the earthworms that consume us
the seasons carrying us to them

Like the likeness of a tree’s joyous shadow
enchanting us to speak in tongues
the flipping of eyelids
cross-currents of dreams

Freezing and falling
asleep and screaming
at the nothingness,
of the nothingness, no less

Ah, sister wind, you want your confession:
I learned nothing
but accept the cold for what you meant it to be

so unlikely a thing to be a spark
yet it feels hot

while the ghost dancers cooly approach
knowing I am theirs, and as ever

was never yours

 

 

 

 

 

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