Clouded gaze veiled in silence,
Whispers of crows in the evening.
The unearthed quiet beckons and lures,
Like a sun-scorched snake with a
Poison-laced tongue in the moonlight.
Your bones are cradled beneath a jackrabbit pulse,
While anemone vines enrapture your soured lungs.
Harrowing yet, they painted your ribcage crimson.
That brittle spine bends with the rolling hills
Of the wind and saltwater seas, always fickle.
Breathing stilled with the echoes of birdsong,
Slumbering feathers in the shadows of your
Moss-stained window, light cast on somber streets.
Widowed feather and ink-smudged pages,
Letters in the form of desolate sand
Being held within a mirrored cage.
A reflection of solitude woven through
My hawthorn tongue and silent muse.