as idle hunters we followed the stalking sun, horizon to horizon on its endless chase behind the unwary moon. we have guarded it’s ears as our own, shielded our wandering eyes together, silenced our collective tongues against the sins of the day but opened wide our mouths to the vigils by night. we did not sleep then & as the dawn slumbered on we lay traps in the sand & drove dreams between the narrow forks of trees. our star lit sacks were full then, our bodies slack under the deceiving murmur of rustling leaves.

as reluctant warriors we sharpened the tips of spears & arrows on the sidewalks of foreign cities, on the temple walls of villages without name. marching shoulder to shoulder with the armies called down from the morning, burying calloused heels into the soft earth with the dog soldiers, naked but for the sound, crisp & papery, of borrowed feathers & shaky soliloquies, do not loose your arrows into the voices of the wind.

as scribes, fitted with inattention & ready hands filled with details & steady stylus. we scratched incantations & the whispers from the dark, or else nonsense, & the madness of the day. all of this, between the lines of codices & the tidy ledgers of greedy merchants. all f this, under the auspices of dark, iridescent birds lining the rooftops of adjoining buildings & courtyard walls.

as homesick gypsies we unburdened our heavy loads in the places we left behind, saving our laden hearts for more wearisome journeys, more festive evenings. we allowed the wind blow our sun kissed shoulders to the borders & unmarked edges of things, as it compelled us onward, we too drew from outside the lines on the flimsy maps we carried at our sides.

as sinners, reposed & thoughtful , still against the pull of night. our courage calls down the sliver of moon to the fullness of our bellies. our sainthood teeters on the edge of a knife & leads our indiscretions around the room, by the nose & yoked to the dreams of last night where we tucked our memory in with a passing blanket of clouds.