ancestral wind

this night is a breath,
branches and leaves vocalize
unveiled voices -
trees speaking ancient tongues.
the wind is the body of the dead
a swollen memory
shaking the bones of earth

ancestors pray through canopies
there is a chorus of darkness
singing this night.
the wind pursues the new moon
the sun is a fire beneath a lake

leaves scatter before this procession,
transitory ghosts
departing from branched navels.
the soil is mausoleum
for the perpetual memory -
the dearly departed
arriving now

slow embers burn,
i am shut in
listening to strange voices
whispering in shouts
wordless in the trees
tears streaking fogged windows

there is no rest
there is no death
only the wind
always chasing the new moon
only the wind
to watch this darkness unfolding -
a phantom breath
stretching into soft spaces
asking for my attention

the blood of lost bones
calls out for a flame
to be rekindled,
formless and eternal.
ancestral wind,
breaths unbroken,
thinning the veil,
siphoning life
inward