“Where Remembrance Lives” The Sunday Whirl #119

He puts her on a pedestal, braiding her hair;
on the left he weaves
a crown to the Queen of the Stars;
on the right he weaves
a crown to the Queen of the Moon.
While a kitten purrs in a crib,
crows covet it, keeping its breath
underneath their wings for flight.

In the middle of the night
she revisits this scene
inside an eroded passage
where remembrance lives.

In rooted memories
she vessels strength,
burying herself in the clouds.

She is scarce
against the roundness of his touch,
against the silence along the streets
where ghosts live in another space.

She arrives at the bridge
with copious scars and
lost likeness of affection,
where strange birds with blue legs
and beaks nest.

The bells toll dawn
upon remote mists in alcoves,
as sprouts in the rain grow
new vegetation for one last time
of sacrifice and dreams.