Departure
By Ana Prundau
QuailBellMagazine.com
QuailBellMagazine.com
disarm chants to wing-less melodies
little famines hover in the distance
ash trees singing your song
the catch and release of veiled fight companions
translates ghost whispers
in the neck of people’s fears
mix tinctures to soothe
the torments of habit
the graceful lights bless ordinary blue
seek refuge in the storm cellars
of your body
take yourself out
fall from the rhythm
decades at the margins
trickle back
to your mother tongue
translates ghost whispers
in the neck of people’s fears
mix tinctures to soothe
the torments of habit
the graceful lights bless ordinary blue
seek refuge in the storm cellars
of your body
take yourself out
fall from the rhythm
decades at the margins
trickle back
to your mother tongue
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