The Sun Dogs I: Spirit Modules

Woven by priests and jeweled by the sea

“come across as a blackbird,” gloats the white hand of greed

Stealing through the temple; breezing through the trees

He grins, he might catch one, mid-saunter and brief

Per chance to dream suddenly and ferociously

Remote viewing the future and distantly green

Until feathers go swirling with dead maple leaves

And words just go riding and writing themselves