Abandoned Invocations

To start placating emptiness the unknown gardener plucks each endless blade of grass, counting all the ways his ideas of love fell.

Her voice was a preparation not a personal revelation, knowing this finally as midnight surrounded the rising alabaster moon.

Knowing enough to trust the melody makers, when the lost ocean of night descended fully into the fidgeting toes. 

No one knows, all the Abandoned invocations populating the dreamers heart.

Don't start following the whispering in the hills, only to mark the moment when the full moon's light showed all the weakness, eyes wide.

Inside empty, scooped out like a jack-o-lantern, the flesh from the walls taken, the light forsaken. Learning to let go.

Solidly rolling swiftly sideways when the flowers changed their frequency, lost in the thick plight.

Leaning into the wavering landscape.

Lean. Let go and lean your skin in to the wavering whispering hills.

Everything dissolves. 

-Ed Tajchman