Love was the heart-rise under shared stars, a weave
of luminosities. It’s getting dim; I’m frayed.
Between flares and wildfires, a pulse of grief
now links us to the Earth. Almighty gold put paid
to other, pagan, bonds. Mutual cosmos?
Maybe. We’re all shot up. Smart missiles rule our skies.
Midwinter mind. Pump it. Dip into its chaos
and daub raw truths on the wall of lies;
speak what’s under ground. The frozen surface,
the heartlessness, must crack – and a felt logos
move fear through your body into an embrace
that births the Phoenix.
Light-bringer, ghost
more whole than holy – be the love, one foolish
enough to keep rising up. Pure enough for ash.