this is about

this is about stones
on high land,
open to the winds,
eroded by rain

this is about
the seed in the soil
sleeping in winter
under ice and snow

this is about
aeroplanes
navigating a storm
sinking and rising

this is about birds
following instinct
as we follow myth
and the tides of blood

this is about love,
a light in the cave,
a shelter at night,
a fire for warmth

this is about
blowing into flames
and getting singed,
about hunger and thirst

this is about life
and death, both one
stage in the waves
of  the universe

which is not ours
but is within
and without
and in between

this is about us,
apart and not,
far and near,
and i sing

sing to me, to you
i am a trumpet
and a lullaby
a changing mystery

preacher, caller,
wounded healer
incarnated,sad,
living joy inside

with nails through
my arms and hands.
you should, maybe,
not ask: how are you,

you don't want to know.
once the flesh falls
from my bones,
i will be free

because i shall not be,
will be only breath
without voice
returning to lost stars.