I seek the witches among my ancestry

who knew the path taken by fog 

descending

shadows close

the warmth of pine burning

given for a promised return

at the long road’s end

I breathe smoke, eat ash

wash with wax melting

and offer to the flame what I Will

and the answer is roots pulling at soil

wind in branches and leaves

mist on bare skin

the hush of deep night

and no fear

only starlight

and ice

and the world I see

through borrowed eyes

—

If you want to hear poetry from some Denver poets you can find episodes of my show, The Poets, over at thepoets.co

Cheers!

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Photo by Daniil Silantev on Unsplash