She conjures
with her drum, her dulcimer
hammering flashes of light,
the wild spirit that sleeps
within me, this pale
casement of bones.
I leave my body’s
frame, woman
gowned in air and
flame, wandering
toward the western
shore
where stones meet
the gale,
where tides meets
the sand
and shadows patch the sea.
and shadows patch the sea.
She conjures with
her song
a deeper scent
of salt and pine.
Oh! Brine, Oh! Brisk Juniper
become my perfume,
my way
of enticing the
dead
to rise and come. My young highwayman
give me your hand,
your wrist
and let us share
for these spare
moments – an
immortal pulse.
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