bare feet calloused kissing earth and stone
red ochre stains in finger webbing there
hands on the bare rock
in flicker licking shifting firelight
the fathers the sons those in between the mothers the daughters
and the generations all together in and on the bare rock
Push back the edges of night
and curate the shadows
they will tend the flames
the generations preserve the coals
carried on into the cold darkness
in the horn the home borne
from hearth to hearth
where warm red hands scrape aside
an age’s spent gray ash
No comments:
Post a Comment