Exile

May the Grandmothers, 

break the Silence

with the music

of their chimes,

end a life 

spent in exile.

May the Peace 

of the Forest

flow through me.

(I surrender

heartmind and body 

to clear mountain streams).

They come,

embodied Souls

without possessions,

carry protection

in their arms.

Spirit born.

Emerging as 

mushrooms,

three lobed trillium,

scarlet sunsets,

purple berries –

the path ahead

is lit from within.

They teach me

  Primal Forest

Wisdom,

heal torn limbs

and hearts.

Transformed,

 wily Black Bears

feast on rotten fruit,

 accompany mein my dreams.