On Bar Hill

Under a gun metal sky
the Lazarus rattle
of the soon to be
night wind,
scatters your name
among the tree`s grasping claws.

These barren spaces are
deep with your absence
and the dead who are
named and well buried.

Is there a God here
who is indifferent
to love,
but emerges from loss
to die
for my sins?

Now the rain lyrics fall
as night seeps into
rose tipped clouds,
a handful of sparrows rise

and the legend of
broken vows
is cold in the grave
of my self.