must be a dry land
when right as rain means good

I’m a wandering pilgrim
walking wildernesses bright as hell
winter rain feeling wrong as sin
judged by loss and stung by death
stagger through this barren month
fiery as arctic auroras

in search of a new flower
to gift my morning-eyed lover
and salve her shattered heart
where we spread the ashes
of our hearts’ daughter
at the foot of the flood-plain willow

dm pitchford 12/23/23