thought & memory

Sam Lucero is a sorceress, and her magic is the best kind!

samantha lucero


in auguries of noisy snow
of iron-hammered stormy sons
they worship an emollient breath
of black masks in tangling roots
where he stations by charting death
in patched dreams you soon forget

someday he will rejoin me there
his war-eye sown on the ice river
like a long missed ally whistling home
impervious to the stinging age
of nomad bones ingesting  dark
on a moss-throne of hinting swords

someday he will ease the shield

like a mindful lover, heedful of wrath

waiting hungrily at my white-cloth altar

in the watery mouth of a young coffin

wearing the chapped smoking grin

of a burned down god

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