Of all the deities,
she rises quickly
as we spin eastward
into the present tense
illuminated in a dark sky.
The gray seems blue,
oak trees in fright, filigreed
with filtered light rising free
of earthly probabilities—
after all is said and done.
The natives need wild gods
and goddesses to endure
the nonsense, the unfeeling
truth with no hues offered
for love or compassion.
drycrikjournal 