creekfire

The possibility of dogwood

sings in the simple

prayer you whisper.

Our family of sassafras

and wind, of bloodroot

and mourning cloak,

announces the violent

and blessed

claims of birth

and breathing. The scrutiny

of lilies and thunderheads

always finds me, always

remembers how I burn

like a desert without

you, and how

your healing fire

declares itself

again and again

in the living thirst of

your breath.

 

----©Laura Sorrells 2013

all rights reserved

Done