How can there be words
without the ears to hear them
the pages writ in spelling
all the ways to listen in
to time spent in the heart
digging through the ruins
of the days spent in between
the dark nights of the soul
All the wing-ed’s crossing o’r
soaring through the pines
a sky the eye somehow missed
whites wisps electric blue
drift away the day’s remains
drifts to the earth as letters
leaving what was willed without
the embers slowly fading
grandfathersky 