Rebirth

Thick hushing rush of rain
composes April morning.
Green wind swings the trees,
sodden buddings softly swell.

Empathetic,
I lie within
wrapped tight in blankets,
rocking;
waiting to be lifted
and held.

Wild Soul

Wild Soul
If yours be a wild soul, come with mine
into the darkness to gather wood.
Set flame to twig, and twig to blaze,
stir reddened heart coals with the poking stick.
Stare down the flames, absorb the heat
wear ash and pungent smoke to sleep.

There are no stars
under ceilings and roofs.