Views of the Lost

There is a team of devils
of demons darkness true,
brothers of the hooded death
and lovers of the moon.

They killed her with their gazes,
their piercing yellow eyes.
They swallowed up the mountain
and spit blood into the sky.

But still there was no peace
no rest from the bright slant
of all the tiny pieces
that made up human chants.

And when the sorrow watches
against the starry blanket night
the demons will find her in their clutches
a girl of piercing sunlight.



'Tis feather soft amongst the dew,
with purity pebbles so warm and white,
and gentle radiance that shines through
as crisscross threads of golden light.

Palms splayed out against the sky
to hold the hand of its cloudy paste.
Within these hands bakes the sunlight,
a humming heat not meant for haste.

Perhaps heaven's joyous calls unsung
have taken root to spread news begun
along the trickling brilliance of sky
that speaks as blissful ivory light.

Buds bloom to welcome midday,
as if this ancient story they know. And
creatures crawl under the sun to lay;
bathing, painting, breathing her glow.



The sun soaks into his skin
hums inside his painted cheeks
she spreads across and deep within
along his limbs like golden flame.

The sky is white
with cloudy paste
that seems to fall
to the horizon face.

The blades of grass
are softer than furs
they twirl and caress
kiss him with burs.

The sunlight opens to heaven
shines until he breathes her warmth
she shows the way to kin and brethren
gives to death and takes to birth.