a lullaby a lullaby
whispering into
darkness
impossibly
impossibly
echoing through
the embers of each
dissident dream
moving
forward and
backward until
there is only ash
utterly worn out
utterly clear
this is when you
tell me
I'm a ghost
that I've been a ghost
all along
and though the bats
always come back
and the crows
always come back
they will not recognize me crying
they did not recognize me dying
you tell me I cannot
leave this place
that I am
as much this farmhouse
as this farmhouse is me
as the tiny eye holes of my eyes
are cul-de-sacs
for wayward shadows
as my abandoned grin
is a gorge
for a chorus
of yellow jackets
you tell me
staying still is always
an ambush for bodies
you tell me
that father is now time
that mother is the white
walls that hold me
for all time
that the creek
is every
word I've ever spoken
and out climbed love
and out climbed hate
pretending to be light
pretending to be cameras flashing
pretending to be bats wings
pretending to be children
praying for
a long dark night of the soul
for cold hard stone
for shadows alone
for the long road home
you say you want
to find
the unconditional self
but you have to begin
while I'm asleep
so you echo
through the embers
of each lullaby impossibly
moving forward
and backward
until there is only sleep
little boneless
little skinless
dream sparrows
to my eyelids
one facing upwards
one facing downwards
turned completely inside out
until they become
black holes
meteorites crashing
the fringe of voices
before they are
divided
among several hells