Eric Cockrell

perhaps then, morning petals have fallen.
now snowflakes give bodies to dreams.
and leaves that fell in glorious passion,
now drink the tint of afternoon grey.
only crows remain as the keepers,
while fingers clutch breasts beneath the dirt.
as holiness smells like pine logs burning,
and heaven's windows are covered with plastic.
death moves untouched among the shadows,
while carpenters stare at uncut trees.
and prayers themselves have faces,
as dreams walk barefooted among us.
do i dare then to breathe?
my lips taste of brandy and willow.
i lay down among the wild creatures,
waiting for the clouds to call...
i lay down among the wild creatures,
waiting for the darkness to fall!