I do not need tarot cards to predict our future because I am a proficient witch without them

It will be winter solstice

green pines climbing up out of the valley
up the crest of the mountain
that cradles your childhood home

It will be winter solstice,

a place that only you know:
a place I have avoided,
scared that your mother will discover me

In that place, your spirit
rustles branches drops pinecones
quietly snowy floor

Your spirit rattles naked birches,
boughs crying out with your grief
short spurts floating intermingling
with my foggy breath
because I am still here
and you are still dead

In this place that no one knows
as well as you did in life
and in death, your movement
lives on through the trees

Cold creeps into my feet
The cold of a corpse
left abandoned on the floor left to lie
in rot

Cold creeps into my feet

But your body heated up didn’t it
when the flames devoured you? You got all hot?
Released to the winds? Carried back
to play amongst the birches yet again?

It will be winter solstice, and I will find you
my love. I will wear my grief plainly
on this moon face. I will not hide. I will no longer
carry fear.

I will enter the woods looking searching
for you I will find you there I will find you
once and for all our spirits will meet the green haze
around the trees we will stir each other up

we will rise rise rise the stars floating
dancing breezes lifting us against the coming
of the new sun

light is returning

stirring