Away My Love

Come away.
Come away and slur
into hovelling gray,
away from the heats
hummed low – away.

Come, let us carry
this mute owl night
far from burgeoning day –
away – far from the fury
of gospel – far –
far from the scurry
of commerce – away,

Into some bold and barren
moon scraped glen,
smoothed with teeth and talon
and then, away – away
into the myriad gray
of our own true making –

stone below pine,
pine below sky,
sky below nothing
but the want in your eye.

Come away, my love,
and tender a blaze,
for black is the sum
of all of our days.

But there, there, far and away –
bright upon some needled clay,
let darkness have its way, its way,
and gather we to fire, to pray.

Image: Nathan Anderson on Unsplash