my favourite time of year,
    fleshed out in apricot leaves and ginger skies
                                 both as healthy as the real things –
              the year’s wheel is just as invigorating
            as the one before

                      I am oft looking through the notes
                scrawled in the margins to myself
                        and it is curious to see
                      the realism come to life – or is it
                           cynicism?
                           unimpeachable?
                      catalysts that my fingers have become
                 swept away the fireflies in the night

            I live by the burning fires now
                        onyx around my neck,
                     the stars in my eyes

               the sermons have changed from light and love
                         to strength and stability,
         the more primal aspect of the heart
                       but the message is still the same;

                     there are smudges and stones
                   snarls and demons, witchery and shadows
                               but there is the sun and the moon
                          within what you would call the dark

                      it is not so much transcendence as it is
                                 resurrection

                               or would that be evolution?