The Journey to the Northeast

False dawn's withered fingers.
We depart,
ashes on our eyelids.

The meadow's mouth opens; we are swallowed
like the fog we swallow.

Leave the trees leave the autumn leave
the dream about your death
to die.

I have seen her sitting naked,
waiting sacred for the sunrise:

skin like feathers,
arms so golden
they can not move.

The aspens whisper windy;
the willows creak with empty laughter.

Her eyes will not redeem you, her
eyes have vanished
into the hollow.

Make her blossom, make her open,
make her love where love is absent.

Submerged in moonrise,
winter on our tongues,

I thought I heard her sigh, something,
I thought I heard, I thought
something.

Find the roses, fill the rivers, cast a word
into her heavens.

Only in Orion is the moment
fully remembered:

Those were suns inside her eyes
filling deep with water.