To Breathe

I am poor, with verse
my hands shake rain
shadows, meager tin-clap
libations at no altar climbing
a candle's broken beams.

Still you are here, sitting
to hear this beggar rise
courtesy for you,
windy rags of sun-skin
falling to ground, eyes
sleeping a home
in your warm breath.

And so you sing silence
on these words, torn
a flickering fire scars deep
empties in that open sky
choking me with sound.

Heavy Brass

The trees thread heavily bright
in the winded night. It runs
crashing with heavy footfalls,
breathy glow edged with smoke.

It makes light the hills
gray and rising, bloomed afeather
soft sage and heather clouds
in a sweeping low sky.

Beneath it I sit, strange
as the stars tearing roots
through the thick sleep above,
the earth springs
sculpted from ringing brass lungs
burning through the dark.

As I sleep the dust settles
in coiled rings around me-
a land broken, buried
with the march of music.