Old Wood

 

Death 

Old Wood

Aching for Mother
Crying for Father 

Shopping...my friend,
my sanctuary

Tired

Tired of trying,
Tired of grieving

Dying,
Dying in the Dust

Wrung out 

Breath
Breath brings me back, and I break-though.

And I rise, as the crocus rises, a Spring dragon.

 

 2000, wlg