exiles three/

©2022 Michael Raven


are all doors
now closed
to the realms
beyond the
setting sun?
daring to dream
an obsidian key
under the ash tree


wayfaring since
the diaspora
bone, soil and barrow
left behind
a hill to frame a home

ocus muir

under the ninth
days gone by
with salt on tongue
singing our song of exiles
to the beat of
deer skin drums
riding the wave

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