Saturday, June 11, 2022

Shasta Grass

I wander through your history
To relive the horror
Of the season of the witch,
The observance of the breach
When you were wrong one time
And knew what you were up against.

So Juneau holds the room in white.
The star charts tell her tales so well
Because they let her say what she knows
Even when it's snowmelt
Using her voice,
Content to bestow on the invisible
A form that will come
When the mountain floats
Beyond existence.

The silence never chooses
To be heard,
But wind sprites come here
To be perceived
In a way they never can
On dry land.
It doesn't matter what the voice says
But to know it
As a voice.