Read the Blood

The trees throw mottled darkness
And I search for the letters
That they trace with their shadows

There are books in the ragged grass
And volumes in the broken pebbles
That tell old secrets

I search each face for its flaws
Each one a letter
In an immeasurable scroll

I know of ink and paper
But those are pale imprints
of the real story.

Who will translate
the snow and the clouds
the fur and the skin?

I close my eyes
And read my heartbeat
And all the words
Of the blood and the world.