Eaters of the Morning Sun

forest restless fire naked light bleeding mist into the morning and through the silence bury the sun with me in the roots, pin under gravity by the shapeless palm schism of shadows her wayward fingers cold smoke caress chainsaw pull the ash into my throat pitchy sweet dark inhale a red-bellied dawn a bird’s skull scorched white flower wicks in black marble cast upon the slag twitches mute in chilling brutality cut into solitude arias in spirals weave circles of beautiful rage violation wrapped in delicate knots releasing tree mercy kill-shot falls softly to the earth where a sea of dust in me stirs some days I pity the horizon the wandering eye hungry for the sea a place without shape deep as time not like here where the pressing gloom mortem of post-fire drowns into broken night immolation ghosts adrift deep in the mind’s sky I become the evisceration and exhume from consciousness softest fever twisted mad risen from earth the wrath of god where we hold the line cold trail probe and feel for pulse life under the char of skin singing in the lacuna wings cracking through membrane the temple of the dragonfly touching sky, chasing death these eaters of the morning sun