what are you ice child? bones like crystal. gleaming black and light. coiled into a memory. a crone. the realm of story holds you in her palm. the fragile trees have never looked so beautiful. you carve your limbs from birch. you return. again.
the velvet almanac entry 4
we are in the earthen bowl, the black lit lull of midwinter. the darkness has been potent hasn’t it? collectively we are hurting, wandering unlanterned hallways. i offer this poem, written in the teeth of wolves, in the forgotten sound of a swan bone, in the fragments of snow leopard and lynx that walked here before.
the swan bone flute when i want to find you i look for a song, or in lost tracks of leopard in advancing snow the field is white and you are blown in from smokey quartz, black flint, bone. an oak leaf tinged in silver, i ask the dead did your small hands turn cold waiting to be mothered or did you wear glass wings to ingather the paling sun? come, i will make of you a breath. my mouth dreams away the boundaries my hands know what to do
So deeply beautiful! ✨💫🩶
Exquisite