tree, root – pushed through stone,
splitting spilt mortar on old tiles

walk, ivy wind breakers. mansion
walls, rainwatered vine, no wine
left here to drink – broken ground
unclaimed, now, doorway a henge
with filigree runes.

“Bloodied Roots”

beneath black boughs
drinking in sun and rain,
we bled ourselves
among the roots.

wind ran through valleys,
catching dead leaves
and dead men – it screamed
through lives lost and lived.

our Gods dined on blood and salt,
freely spilt and freely given –
they sheltered us, hinted at unknowables
and watched while we were cut down.