Stunt Pilot

 

I had more to say than my skin could hold,

so lent my tongue to red weedy blooms

and with Winter Mother still and cold

Sawed and planed her coffin rooms.

I had more to go than my feet had bones

so lent my skin to a spring-stormed road,

a cowbird child from a nest of stones

by an April wind to the May field sowed.

I had more to dream than Night could carry

so lent my skull to Mare in trade

for a poppy dream of elderberries

and a jar of poisoned marmalade.

I had more to die than Death could sanction

so lent my trick to an urn of smoke

and hid there in sly satisfaction

tucked like a babe in Lugus' poke.

________

for Sunday Muse # 155.