Stories

In my mirror,

house of sacred myths,

lives a warrior

whose wounds are mouths

reciting stories...

           rare mornings of peace

           when the breeze made marionettes

           of wind chimes

           as oaks stood guard,

           and evenings 

           when a shadow of fear

           or grief escaped

           from her nightmare

           and wrestled her

           until dawn chased it away.

Her final story

the wind will erase.

I will write

in black dust

from charred bone

how she climbed

the holy mountain alone,

its halo of mist

hiding her familiar home

in the Valley of Broken Wings.

© Jean Sampson, 2015

Misty mountains ~ Cochamo, Chile
Photo by McKay Savage
from Wikimedia Commons