Sublime

The dead are close,

It was summer, and the light was tinged with pink.

All this time past, the years lived through,

And though the snow smothered the valley and the milk froze in the dairy, my soul thawed.

It had stirred embers of memory she had thought long dead. Things she had willed herself to forget.

where the sky will cover me with her rough, grey hand.

She remembered the dead ember hidden in the pocket of Martin’s greatcoat. Embers carried for protection. Where had it come from? From what hearth, what fire?

There were those who did not catch to the fabric of the world.