Tributes to winter

Tributes to winter, losing crowns,
ax-marked for ashing, trees go down.
Led by their force, streams out of flues,
a wind is keen on burning clues

of how core pain grows in its lungs
when chopped, deprived of branches, trunks
are hoarding essences of warmth.
A match is struck and flames speak harm.

The soul of woods, caught short on sigh,
in lavish crackles learns to fly.
Each swing of wings leaves tracks to soot,
beyond horizons fumes enroot.
 
A crust of height is left aside
for world’s a bit ingrown, less eyed,
impossible to pick and own,
with wind-made railings to unknown.

A flight of steps leads to the chest
where bitterness can barely rest,
an infinite free fall’s embraced
by, Love devoted, time and space.

The end of cosmos, last of stops,
that’s where minds don’t mind be dropped
to start with dusting  ways for steps,
to measure shadows breathing depth.

Reusable for laws, my ink,
rewrites the limits. Space can sink,
create oases, bay at sun,
and breed in what can’t be undone.

That’s where a chance won’t knock at doors,
new graves eat flesh, galactic wars
forget its spins, and gypsy-stars
find landing place for love-hurt-scars.

Where is the sieve with holes to rush
between the worlds, outlived and crushed,
while passing straight, to understand
each bit of memory it strands?

Who’s capable to be recalled
can buy the time enough  to hold
the blues of ran in paper air
till someone finds himself out there.

Warm welcome, souls of woods come back.
Cold tongues of floor are being thwacked
by sunshine blasted from squared holes,
show-through-effecting senseless walls.

August 22, 2011