the lighthouse

gold in the deep

tendrils reaching out to unknown places

spirals of birdsong from tangled roots

there is no place here for

the army of cruelty

slippery, seething sons who can’t hear “no”

(the folly of western storytelling)

no catch (just release)

violence cast out

blessings held close

I am the lighthouse.

A Blessing

May the messes you make bring the epiphanies you need, dear reader.