Poetry

Those lost fauna

I can step into the shadows of their skin and feel

the warmth bound through me,

the earthy closeness of those burrowed days

nostalgic and pure.

The rains come and nourish the ground,

and when the skies clear to leave me

alone on the grass,

I whisper their names to keep them alive

for another year.

Poetry

Spirit Walker

The silent children nod their heads as it approaches,

jumping from the thin branches to hitch a ride on its reaching antlers.

Green spreads from each step it takes, vines spiralling

into unicorn horn points to warn off man

if he should venture too close to the gateway.

It kisses the flowers in the mushroom ring

when the moon spills down, greets the waiting oak,

and passes through with its precious cargo safe and free.