Wednesday, January 4, 2012

To the New Year

We stopped...listening.
Seven sisters chasing the moon, the ox close behind;
Orion's following, arrows slung.

A thousand dragons envisioned tonight, 
and the moment I saw would be tattooed on my face: 
a tiny red star, above the left brow.

Taurus' horns never shone so bright. 

I'll follow your lead, he said, yet
it was he who led, and glanced over our shoulders as we crossed.
In one year he'll leave the army.

Congratulations to that, said I.
Of course there's no going back; we turn, and make our way,
in love, for the snows to come.

Namaste, miigwich, and peace.

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