days

[wytchcroft]

 
then count the days backward
stop time
stop tongues

and no damage done

strangers reading names from tombstones
speaking in birdsong
shaking the trees

with an alphabet of broken teeth

catching a breath
of ash and friendly steam

this is not - there is no - what could be -

a gap toothed truth
and honesty

for the space between fingers
for the length of a smile
and the days counted backward
for many a mile

Comments

[chalissa.livejournal.com]

You. I miss you. That's entirely my own fault, of course. I just came over here to your LJ for the first time in forever, and it felt like returning to a dear friend's house to visit and catch up on what's been happening... "what's been happening," of course, being your mind-blowingly beautiful writing.

And this is no exception. I loved reading it right now, because I discovered the loveliest cemetery just around the corner from my apartment, full of trees and flowers and quiet corners to sit in and singing birds and prowling half-wild cats and the mortal remains of Bertolt Brecht and his wife Helene. I've been walking around the cemetery lately ("Friedhof" – literally, "courtyard of peace" – is the German word for cemetery), looking at every grave in turn, meditating on the people with huge grand graves, and also the people whose families couldn't afford a grave at all, but just planted a few flowers in their assigned plot. It got me reflecting, musing, feeling peaceful and reminiscent.

So, reading this made me smile.

[wytchcroft.livejournal.com]

i'm just really happy that you are where you are and that you are managing to find places personal to you.
keep on adventuring dear mystic muse wife! :)))

the cemetery i visited recently is a small but fairly famous one in the north of england.