The Moon, a white basket for my prayers

WINTER'S GHOST:Autumn moonincautious in the dark riverWinter’s ghost walkswith a covered faceand silver bones wait in all animalsto be bone cloth upon her shoulderwait for her happiness in that they are silver

The forest rose like a dream from the mind of Chaos’s lonely daughter and the sun fell heavy and thick to warm the blood of a world not quite ready to live but so tired of its own imagination

Beneath the gentle gaze of a god turned in stone holding the dreaming wish of safety in our arms