Something

The Southern Cross possessed the sky that night winds with cold dominion should coast the chapel roof and cry, betray the heartland to oblivion. Relaying scents on mountain breeze with relics of the grateful dead, semaphore on repentant knees, did something kill the newly wed? With no reply about the grail, duos of crows pecked the eyes and beak-plunged in the entrail, communing when something freshly dies. The friend and lover contemplates a future tarred and tarnish feathered, locks digits with the hands of fate in grinding seas and tempest weathered. Togetherness, in love division, reaching for a different sun, I know the weight of indecision, she knows I am the one…