Metachronicle

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i.

No words for this yet
Just shock at the sky
immense above water

and hot sand, the familiar skin,
a rough power swooping
you airborne

You land by the water’s edge
Something wants you dead

ii.

Before you knew anything
Some other finger left
A mark on the moon

Shadowing your birth
That spring when blood
Flowed from the flowers

Growing on the far riverbank
Where the sun lingered longer

iii.

You saw snakes in the water
Found turtles in the sand
Crows measured you in caws

The articles of a language
Unknown, serene, perfect
Incoherence in the ear

No one came to care
So, you collected all you could

iv.

You walked the same path
Through the frost mornings
And snows until little lakes

Appeared in your footprints
Frozen over, killing grass below
In spring a ghost wandered

Before you every morning
Delivering doom door to door

v.

The odder things were
The stranger you seemed
As if a blue star had fallen

Into your mouth teaching you
To sing with knowing pain
About how cold the light can be

No matter what time of day or year
Any light is heaven to the dead

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