She's my stars strung bone to bone.
Weather walking east to west.
Everything the gods know -
She's the cross clasped to the breast of night.
The smudge smoke for appeasing saints.
The stone I sleep and dream upon,
and when I wake
she's the rain.
Still I drove a dozen dawns
to seek counsel on the mountain.
Climbed until my hands were raw
just to hear a wise one say,
"Be still and know that I am dog -
stars beyond your ken and counting.
Worlds beget more worlds,
but some truths never change.
The only cure for drought
A rough draft for Hannah's prompt at Real Toads. I've had a sick kid all week, so I haven't got much brain left.