A Spell for the Living
Emma Duggleby

Sip blood like honey
from the wells of deer teeth,
age stained into streaks
of decay 
where birds fish for larvae 
between the rotting marrow.
 
Carve rings from ash
branch, dying 
flesh on flesh
where fire burns life
into its own ribbed logs.
 
Bird feet sing 
of ember smoke.
 
Down leaves line hair
like newborn 
owl beak
reaching 
for a moth-swarmed moon,
insect wings hooked
on closed mouths.
 
Eat birdsong 
like pear flesh,
juice stoking fire
into feathered wing,
blessings of life.