The glacier unleashed above the surface, exposed to the elements, withered and melting, as ice teeth drip in sun dagger’s game

The fortress unmoved in storm, harbored deep into the rooted ground by intertwined redwoods eating away at the past through methodical digging

The opening beyond the passageway, circumventing the avenues of darkness, though blind, a serpent worm hollowing and sharpening the narrowness below

The salutation circled on parchment dry, driven in passion by black-tipped feather dancing its way across the pages of time

The window frame broken, cracked over with windy days turned blizzard, and painted false with robin-blue, layer upon layer, until chipped and exposed the ruined beginning bleeds

The casual handshake of palms fleshy and ripe, with sweat and history intermingled more than the strangers that touch

The blanket hung upon the clothes line, overlapped and moving in the breeze as ghost sheets whisper their jealousy, wanting the warmth to move through them, like champion fingering the goblet of victory

The breath of the sailboat, weeping for the coming of wind, where tossed and turned the sails shall bellow in defense, when all about the observer grins, thinking the movement enters sweet without cost

The misery belonging to one, the performer across dimmed stage, spinning in the absence of light, invisible to the onlookers, if audience ever entered

The broken, spread out for picnic, picked apart to bone, and left for the army of insects to devour the remnants of screams harbored in the feast of gluttony

The fear reaper, echoed shadows of past, silk and web interwoven to glisten and capture, to call forth and entice, until prisoner bewildered in entrapment pleads for escape

The moment, shaded eyes beseeched lost maiden and all searching tumbled outside of tethered pockets, pebbles touching down into river rapids, one after the other, exiting their chamber of ages

The stallion and steed, a chance glance past the soured fields and dank sky, remembering once together they moved free as drifters in hope’s lullaby

Until now, each as forgotten tune joins to create a symphony of sorrow, their music precise and purposeful, reaching into the severed opening of lost child, and soothing the reflection of their collective pain

~ Samantha Craft January 2013