No ceiling

No ceiling

above my head to

prevent the rain from

washing me

purifying me

bleaching me.

And it's burning -

my feet are burning blood

bleeding flames.

I'm a patched usherette puppet

in this bleak heath

and yet I

love my

shadow field

love my

warm I'm-sorry cover.

I'm waiting, my Queen,

I'm guarding your thistle land

aching

shivering

looking at the loony moon.

Waiting and

weaving

our ashy stems.