By Kaine Spitak 

the cool damp earth has never haunted us 

             our skin


                                          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



Ashes to Ashes                                                                                         Phantom Rain