you had us hurt,
in wonderment.
an astonished
palm cuts itself
on coarse bark,
beside a tall
carved boulder.

he thought, groves
to forgotten things,
names with absent
meanings – here,
I could sit and think.


there was a time where thoughts like these
would drain down and collect in the grove
of my palm, pooling into some condensated
collected point; some clarity of feeling,
but now there are only clouds.

“The Valley”

We swept through the valley like wind
rustling over undergrowth and roots,
drinking our fill of air and life and love.

we found that grove of trees,
heard those voices older than words,
felt faces in the bark and salt
on the floor – blood was spilt
long ago, here, for Gods long gone.

once, they’d stood together
on roots drunk with life
once, they’d stood together
against a legion’s love
once, they’d lay together
amidst the burning trees.

from that grove a new emerges,
godless, born of salt and blood
and song: the song’s of bards
born before the wall could crumble.

we found that grove, and many others:
we found and we remember
what chants lived in these boughs,
and what God’s died in them.