Do Not Follow Me
Do not follow me
through the leafless trees
where beasts that ought to be hidden
stand tall, eyes strange and blue and hungry.
Wait here until the spring, when I will need you to kiss
my swollen, purple lips and comb the ice
from my hair.
For you, this is the season of sleep,
so crawl under ground and close your eyes.
Do it now, because winter remember my name
and I must go.
But you will hear me in your dreams,
echoing the owls, talking to the moon.
Do not worry if I will make it or not this time,
because death has always been reluctant
to take me.
He encourages my wound to fester,
then watches it heal under the glow of the storms
as they rage around my head.
Do not follow me, love, and do not fret,
for winter is my healing time, my chance
to gather back strength so I may
grow in your arms, grow with your love.