Kith & Kin

I’m running,
fingers brushing through the field,
shotguns after me,
dogs chasing,
to where the sky was born.

When they catch up,
they tear and bite,
gnawing down to the marrow,
until there’s only a ghost,
each bone haunting the other.

Sleeping underneath children’s beds,
until I find my son’s,
his mother singing a lullaby,
and I whisper along,
until he falls asleep,
and then I join him in the dream -
we build forts out of bearskin,
I show him the river, I show him the trees,
I teach him the name of all things,
I show him my scars made by dogs,
where faith meets sternum,
to where the sky was born.