Pieces

Broken spearheaded horns fragmented in the arteries

drenched black of a still beating heart. Perhaps the one-eye-scarred

protected territory with all might fathomable to a bear, soft

touches on the Furrow barely left a wound. She stands smiling

waiting to return to a den where wheat golden waves, light

rain caress her skin. His blood left no imprint of yesterday’s travels

to peach blossom springs and back. Their fervor a thing of the past,

times of inadequate comfort and childish dreams not made

to last the slapping winds of reality. Where a patch of grass

there was laughter, a cave of colors went silence. Amidst

underground kings and heavenly goddesses were two – of abyss

and of tenderly premise. This was the story often told, hushed

away from ears of men and surrendered into oblivious

myths. What does not kill you eventually does, but for now

the bear’s eyes on passing clouds, he rests.