we pour this wine for the earth
that gives us a place to stand
we pour this wine for the air
that gives us breath to speak
we pour this wine for water
which gives us life on the planet
we pour this wine for the fire
which purifies our failings
we pour this wine for the ether
which connects us to the world
we pour this wine as an offering
that we may survive the dark
that the madness will spare us
and we will return to the light
(February 25, 2025)
stale whispers and innuendo
along the margins of a wind
have risen again from the dead
hinting a time of judgement
is at hand— a time of resentment
and retribution festers anew
what is the opposite of judgement
acceptance forgiveness mercy
mercy has long fallen away
lost somewhere unnoticed
while despair exhausted clings
without solace to strands of hope
that drift listless and tattered
like cottonwood fluff through the air
(March 20, 2024)
(page of cups, reversed—Aquarian)
Someone knocks. I go.
No one is there,
except for a mirror.
As a form of seduction,
I lie to myself
again, then again.
I dress the wound
with doubts and desires;
it opens wider.
Like a fish on shore
gasping for breath,
unable to move,
I tell myself
everything’s okay;
knowing, it is not.
(August 13, 2023)
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