Jennifer Fendya
Response
The Old Gods
By Ray Sharp
Inspiration piece
The old gods speak
through the crow in the tree,
the tongue of the flame,
the wind that stirs the ashes,
but I do not understand
the song the vireo sings
in the mountain ash
above the raspberry patch.
In the evening stillness
the swallows make easy work
of souls on the wing.
In darkness, I see a face
with empty eyes
and teeth like little suns.
Oh to feel pain bloom
out of me like red roses,
like the blood of saints.
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