*
This dark bird flies through the sunlight in my soul and
everything inside of me trembles with dark joy and luminous sorrow.
He is the arrow I let loose with my first cry come home to haunt me.
To free me. To root me to my own spot and to dislodge what needs
dislodging.
He places a burning ember between my lips and one in each palm and bids me
speak.
But he’s hoping I’ll hold my tongue.
*
The Dishwasher's Tears 
wonderful. i was born with this profile etched on the inside of my eyelids. this is my ‘black mack’, who talks to me, or me through him and like the last prince to receive his mantle of nettles in ‘the wild swans’- i have one arm,one black wing. great images in here, scott. the roiling sky above, this dark crow below. i feel i belong. k.
Karen-The portents are everywhere, and magic inhabits the limbs of the creatures, the breathing of the sea, and the stony silence of the earth.It’s good to have good company.yrs-Scott