My boy goes where the birds go

Kindred flocks,
cry barnacle funeral priors,
teeth howl
my boy goes where the birds go,

while the wind slashes
sabers amongst the green
flesh of cloudless storms
where bodies
broke long ago,
God died long ago,
in his coastal cage,
scavenged sacred flesh with the race
of Gorgon ancestries
cursed to kindle
the kindred cruelty
along the row of cliff rise,
fall to knees
before you, crawl
bellied sand dunes

the rock
curls with the stop
of feet
beside edges.

He went
alone, slowly
rummaged cargo
where the birds go,
and Time once
had a lover, though
I never saw her face,
never saw the way she
became a woman in the
gloom of sun slash bright beauty,
or the midwives who
scald the water in the mud-huts,
or the fabric of veils
twining around earlobes,
and nostrils, and I hunted
for him along the noise,
called for him to the Gods
who died before my oldest
blood-boon crooned in her
saffron chemise along
the side of the sea.

My boy goes where the birds go,
where the soul throws
off casted flesh to forge shell-skin
along the edifice of indifference,

He was a lover

a/n: written for the May WCC.