By Kaine Spitak
the cool damp earth has never haunted us
our skin
cries,
bones sob with homesickness
take me to the plains of my ancestors
i cannot hear them in my dreams i know they are not lonely
i wish to run there, to breathe in the ash of centuries old myrrh
my soul is not restless for sleep
but a wayfaring spirit in the fields of asphodel,
“hold my hand,
“the dawn is resting now”
the pendulum no longer swings
unseen one, receiver of all, tired hound’s refuge
i am welcomed home once again
Hades