Raced by ghosts

to an oscillating tank

through the secret clefts

of many facile forests

to the dank heart of

the deeply thrumming woods

where parrots clack

and the whips of ageless bodies

crack like spines,

caverns burning with eternal savor

under cloudy storms of cedar and pine

for the walking blind.

Run weightless on the bows

of willing birches,

watch flying orbs bend air

for primal circuitry

unleashed in rediscovered dawn,

ride to my witch queen

and see if there is a blessing,

a balm kissed many times

to heal the map of murdered lifetimes

twitching in the bushes of the damned,

glitter tossed on pock marked

half paved soil, stark feathers

of besieged being

in the crush of tideless pawns.