Lazarine

When was the last time I died.
Was it January when it rained
and held out for snow, but cried
its black and grey stain away?
How do I walk across the field
with my Lazarine footsteps?
Now that we are snowed in
I find it hard to breathe
or move my feet sideways,
sidestepping past crows
that wait for my footfall to begin.
When was the last time I died,
beneath the cold of February,
leaving notches in my cane
like the rings of trees.

Floating

Let’s float
like a flightless feral cat,
with only holy words like
jasmine, saffron, forgiveness,
to ease our suffering.
We will make time
for lost time.
We are like
a shifting wind.
when words are stolen
from the tip of our tongues,
to the silky passage
of our camphored throats.
All the pain,
of all of this life,
will be pulled away,
unremembered
by time and melody.