Revelation

I found horror in a fistful of pale ash,

dreams mangled along nine rows of crooked teeth

where seven devils danced to empty howls

between hollows of orange trees.

Their eyes--milky and glass

speaking without tongues:

Why is the night the color of rust?

A finch, a lark, and one grey fox linger

beneath the singed earth

the brined dirt

feasting memory as meat

drinking in memorial

of how the meek will inherit

all we walk upon

--all this dust.

The mind unveils,

transmutes silver into amalgam

vision glows faintly in crosses and circles,

--bound in bone, in membrane.