WALKING — A WAY

The moon’s silver finger traces shapes along the street family homes wrapped in windy trees and the smell of rotting leaves shadows flicker on winter glass as I pass voices whisper in the dark and the spark of light in dewdrops exploding under footfall and the ball of the moon above a song of love remembered and loss a scar a wounded star left to wander — the road holds my hand leads me on and I know all that was is gone. the agony of my brother passing joins the sound of water running where rock and sun whither reflection where compass needles lose direction and every road I ever trod comes to an end at this place of cruel perfection — of resignation and decay.

Faces of the dead fade to dust — silence is broken —

- Reese North © 2023.

Holy Tirade of the Heart Uncovered Collaborative drawing Oil pastels and graphite pencil E&R Werkhoven 2011.