Wolf Song

When the night waned, and the moon was full, I heard it calling on the wind.

I heard the wolf song.

Old and enchanted. Lilting and intoning. Bidding me to run, to hide, to go forth. Bidding that I get up, that I not be still, that I look.

That I find.

Follow the hollow in the forest’s mound,

Follow it deep, deep underground.

Wolves tell the tales of the things hiding in the dark,

Wolves tell because others cannot, death to the lark.

Death to the lark.

Continue reading “Wolf Song”

Kindred Traveler

There’s this road that keeps coming up. It’s not in my dreams, but it sure does feel like it. Just staring down the road gives you that heady feeling. Like sleep should be the number one priority of this moment, but, somehow, pictures and words and sounds are invading.

It’s got that feel.

Like the road is coated in sleep-fog. The kind of dreams.

But it isn’t.

It’s a real road.

A road that you can travel.

For sure.

I know.

Not because I’ve traveled it (though, I am now).

But because you traveled it. Continue reading “Kindred Traveler”

Your Name

There are thousands of them.

Thousands of things I name after you. Continue reading “Your Name”

Finding Faith

Tell me.

Tell me to have faith in myself.

Tell me to listen to the sound of my own footsteps.

Tell me to walk to the beat of the words that I speak.

Tell me to trust my motions.

Tell me it’s okay to have faith in me.

Or else tell me to have faith in you.

Tell me you won’t let me stumble.

Tell me your hand rests in such a way that you’ll catch me should I fall.

Tell me that you’re here, walking behind me every step of the way.

Or else tell me nothing at all.

Because the thing I need most is faith.

And the thing I need least is an anchor.

The winds are blowing, and my sails are open.

Let me take to the sea.

Or else let the sea take all of me.

Don’t let me be stranded.

I’d rather be shipwrecked than covered in dust or rust.

So tell me,

Where is the faith I want to see?

Art of Man

Stinging and scraping.

I break your skin to make it what you want it to be. Kill the top layers to make something beautiful. Gold traces silver and covers tan. Things that weren’t suddenly become, and the things that were are suddenly hidden.

New life on your skin. Continue reading “Art of Man”