Naming the Stories

Otter and quaking aspen
the set of a full cleansing moon 
castle walls crumble
in silence
visions trapped by the wild stone 
lace up the sky   pale electric fire
no sound
but a soft expectation of birds 
calling the night home.

Half asleep   bells
mark a butterfly's birth 
over the rubble
I crawl into dawn
corn woman bird girl sister 
calls from the edge of a desert 
where it is still night
to tell me her story
survival.

Rock speaks   a rooster language
and the light is broken
clear.