This Year Is Haunted

Real World - Steve Scott

Above our heads
the slow wheels of fading color
thickly turn
They are imbedded with the usual
bones, wings, and seeds
History and dreams of flight
move thru us
like water

This year is haunted

too many faces
pressed against the window pane
too many echoes
as the heart climbs

her icy radiance
burning the calendars empty houses
think of how the heart betrays the hands
her tides striped their pale beaches
with broken promises

and her bright pull marshals the fingers until they stand
like tall trees crowned in her cold light

Each single leaf is an unfolding map
and the maps sing like angels
of all the places
that we once dreamed of going to.

Look at the roads, they throb like veins
filled with shadows, clues, clouds, tears and words

there is a world, and then there is a real world
what are you waiting for?

There is nothing more precious than blood