There was hope in my dreams last night but it is gone,
gone like the daylight,
for we are in times of darkness.
I close my eyes and tip my head up,
I can smell the air
death is coming.
Fog creeps in and pricks my skin,
it sinks into my body and sinks claws into my mind,
“we are the ghosts of the death that is coming”
the claws scream into my ears,
pressing hard against the edges of my thoughts
“there is no light, no light,” they say,
their many bony fingers cover my eyes
so heavy.
Let me see, I say,
but there is only the white thickness of their ghostly bodies
all around me, and inside.
Taste us, breathe us,
we are the void.

Shall I dig myself into the wet, warm ground
cover my flesh with the unbiased dirt
place the velvety moss in neat array back on top
and let the gods of the earth
spread out their thin white webs?
Here in the rotting darkness I am one with all that sustains
in the embrace of our maker
we can wait.
Above, the angels of the dead and undead
swirl and swallow in unceasing winds
but here below we are slow, quiet life
we will remain
and wait for the sun.

Teresa (known to most as T, or Tbird) is a singer-songwriter and botanist living on the southern Oregon coast.