prayers

the air is still,
cold and heavy
today,
leaning against
the broad shoulders
of mountains,
feeling worlds
dismembered
and gorged
by hungry masks
that have no guts
to proclaim their love;

and then slowly,
a whisper starts,
as the flags rustle
their tattered seams,
weaving a song
with the world,
and hearts that lie
somewhere
in the dirt,
like forgotten seeds;

holding prayers
over lifetimes,
baring themselves,
only
to be torn
and scattered
by the wind
from beyond
those dancing mountains.