Lilah Clay

Awake

To clasp chrysanthemums
at my chest,
in a rowboat or coffin.
 
To lie here,
pulling in breath,
aching toward human.
 
              *
 
My hands fall asleep,
turn into paper
lanterns catching flame.
 
All the magic
knit into me,
moments unshared,
awake within a wake.
 
             *
 
On the altar of
vulnerability—
scatter sea salt,
offer cornmeal.
Invent your own prayers
 
to snag
the departing skirt
of rain
to turn back
and purify.
 

Blue_Sky.jpg

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray