Aria

The sadness,
goes down as deep as her bones.
Oh, she clothes it well, with optimistic flesh,
joyful tendons and beautiful skin.
But in the quiet times,
she hears it singing.

When Darkness Come Again . . .

Spread your whispering story.

Those glittering shards that sing
of instinct and fine urges.

Scatter some of your charm
upon this ashen soul.

Scald me with your joy.

Let me steal from you
the knack of carrying light.

So that when the darkness comes again,
to pour its inky stains and crush my violet hope.

I can shout out to my sisters

and with their hair streaming
and wild voices splitting the air.

They will coming running.

Whooping and hollering
and dancing in circles.

Until all of the shadows are gone.