Rituals

The moon hangs like ice
upon the crocus blossoms;
the young lovers part.
The baker lights the oven,
turning to shape the day’s bread.

(September 9, 2016)

egg moon

the procreant surge
dances with the moon’s shadow
beneath the new grass

(April 22, 2016)

Do You See the Emptiness?

Your answer’s sought through
invocation again tonight.
I am tired with a headache;
I forgot to take my meds—
so, I worry causality’s beads.
No doubt, that is a symptom—
one I refuse to, again, look up.
And even that bit of agency,
that bit of non-conformity,
is another sign, another template
through which to bend a metaphor,
until what I knew I know again
like ouroboros devouring the skin
it sheds across a forest’s floor
where there are no trees
to help find one’s way back,
and I don’t know what to do.

worship’s purpose

such genuflections are required
to appease a darker god than you
can invoke with millennia of prayer:
the bent neck and obsequious
mutters— a mere charade of ritual
to reinforce submission’s place
more than attain some god’s grace
so eat your bread and drink your wine
tell yourself again and again
your life has no consequence
except in questionable service
to a promissory pact in the end
you will be free to be as god
dissolved into non-existence
(December 31, 2015)

Totemic Ravens and Rabbits

1.
a bent black head cocked
to turn a blacker eye sharply
curious toward a quick interest
what could this be could this be
a bit of torn flesh or a shiny
sparkle of a bauble to fly home
and tuck safely away away today
or to eat now regurgitate later
to feed the clamoring young
and all this must be absorbed
and cogitated within a pause
of a flutter then leap aloft
collecting armfuls of air
to make one’s way back
alas back  from this lack
2.
to sit so still and silent
one can hear the  twitch
of ruffled fur over skin
so alive to fear of death
each moment reduces time
to a blue translucence like
this cold moment between
the wispy grass as one waits
on passing dogs with laughing
masters to make their way far
enough to leap in tangential arcs
away away away until the dark
briar grows thick and one becomes
lost in anonymity’s thorny charms

(May 6, 2015)

eclipsed

the moon bleeds tonight
beneath the weight my back aches
another month gone

(October 8, 2014)

Leavings the Dead Stutter

As ritual replaces love,
ravens circle the field;
their black eyes survey
the ground’s cold wreckage.
Beneath fluttering wings
and caws, today’s blurred
light bathes my vision
with a new absolution.
Steam rises with the sun.
Morning dew mixed with blood
dampens all with a cold dead
sheen. The ravens land as one.
Turning my eye skyward,
I moan once, then lie still.

(October 3, 2014)

Erato’s Gift

I fill your absence
with my desire
your silence
with the words
I whisper here
as if in a prayer
you will hear
then know
I love you still

(September 20, 2014)

a patterned life

He charmed her, like a kiss,
a promise on the lip
of smiling happenstance.
“There’s more,” he grinned
taking her by the hand.
She growled, “There must.”
She did his will; he her want:
Another night, another day
passed each other on the way.

(July 3, 2014)

our daily bread

. . . like grasping a fresh baguette
crusty warm from the oven:
You break the bread between
your hands, and inhale
the steamy breath
as it rises, like doves,
in slow dancing wisps
from the center of the loaf,
then you understand
for that moment, inarticulate,
within a stunned clarity,
your life,
and take a bite.

(July 2, 2014)