Quiet, Beneath.

Where the firelight dies
And the chant grows quiet
beyond the wall that wears many hands,
we fell
far in the overgrown valley
where the red birds jabber and
conquering eyes are blind.
We take small edges
between thumb and forefinger, notching
the bones, the rocks, the forest,
taking aim at fleeing thoughts,
loosing stones at the cairns.

Leave a Reply