In a field of rain a flood of birds rose and fell in the wind,
Peppered swirls of pulsing hearts,
Feathers, bones, bound in skin;
Spiralled round my soul,
I was exalted by the cold
And the fury of their song in the desolation.

And the song went…

May your restless bones upon the road, accept the pity of the wind.
May you blow across the land,
And land the blows you swing.
May your end defeat your start
And draw a line between your heart
To the pilgrims on the road and the songs they sing.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *