Even the air is thin. 

The giving ground cracks 

in brittle bones 

underfoot the dust of things scatter

as ice shards. Every step leaves a track


by crushed moss, shattered leaves, broken


no matter how gently passed things


and snap 

sending sparks weaving in spirals

across one veil, then another 

under a deepening sky. Samhain sifts 

what has come 

to pass

even as the flames leap 

forward, eager to reveal 

the season’s light

burning like a new star

within every broken thing.

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