Seer

A raven in my hair to catch the wind
to run with the brokencorn, the shells
of winter's dawn.

Let me bind your hands with my cotton
band, and draw the sand of your fate
in my crystal circle's storm.

Lie here and I will stroke your forehead
with charms of comfort, and with a god's eye
plant a flint of faithfire in your soul
to fuel your future's goal.

Run with me and my waters' rush
over the sharp stones of hope's wing

Take my ashen fingers to crush
and with their amber I will pull you into spring.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.