There is a stillness
by this lake,
a mist rises
from the moist earth
along the ruined ramparts
of these city walls.
But in the darkness
shines a glimmer
of a tender place,
exposed and snagged
in the fluidity of light
I feel its tug
and pull, the presence
at the edges
of myself and gravity.
I know how it rides
the spirit of Horse,
the storm in its mane,
the ocean of its creation.
Soon we will riot through the waters
of resistance, soar over moons.
Photo Credit: Louise Hastings
Somewhere in the half-light
hangs my moon,
a silver veil, beams of change
transforming shadows, dusty corners.
The night breeze has a chill edge
and I am bound, too much on my mind to sleep.
Light closes and it’s not the darkness that troubles
but the violence in the cold, clear day.
Beginnings turn to endings,
disappointments, the same circles formed.
A woman at the window
is watchful as the storm rages through.
Copyright 2013 Louise Hastings
I wonder what she sees
whilst staring at the blankness
of the middle distance, a space
of starless nights, streaks of shadows
cutting across her weightless sight.
This is her death, the way she dies,
yet somewhere in that broken mind
she breathes a restless sigh.
I wonder at her choice,
preferring numbness over life.
Her healing burns,
she feels the pain it gives.
If she knew what I knew,
would she choose to live?
You creep along my nerves
and sinews, paving pathways
to firing neurons, beyond
the otherness of splitting minds.
You climb my curved arches with
gentle hands, in tears. I feared
for you then, scared you could fall
through skies awash with pinks
and blues. My tiny fingers clutch
at tattered remnants of a different life.
How far I have travelled,
embarrassed by such vulnerability.
We turn trembling to the length of light,
feeling the dark away,
draining dregs from empty cans,
and listen to the blackbird sing.