The Sun Dogs I: Spirit Modules

Woven by priests and jeweled by the sea “come across as a blackbird,” gloats the white hand of greed Stealing through the temple; breezing through the trees He grins, he might catch one, mid-saunter and brief Per chance to dream suddenly and ferociously Remote viewing the future and distantly green Until feathers go swirling with dead maple leaves And words just go riding and writing themselves