of sun from the lips
of the horizon as a sea of ravens
crash their wings against our ribs.
Our roots grown deep in the broken hip
of a concrete god we stretch our limbs
into descending sapphire to greet stars.
Ancestors of the White Oak and Mother Earth’s promise
we sing the canticum of leaves into the night wind
to stir the blood of wild sprouts to revolt against
the damning fingerprint of humans.
Quietly the moon runs her hand along our spines
to send light into our scars and strikes the match of tomorrows
to give us visions of what we must do to defeat man’s
knife blade of sorrows.
©Susie Clevenger 2021