When last did you?
Vernal
When the moon shifts its subtle weight
and you leave at last what you love
to hate, the friends you thought ill of,
forsaken, will open their hands
like petals in your sun.
The vultures will swing lazily
about your neighborhood,
and whether it is love
or roadkill
you will not be able to say.
The name of the world
is self and not self.
The name of the world is written
in the light on the waves
of the wind.
Release the shadows of morning.
For spring will not take you
from behind without warning.
Spring will take you swimming in snowmelt
and warm that hard thing frozen
in your womb. When last did you
look up, when last did you notice
that watchful eye,
some new thing
circling?
Whether or not you believe we are
Equinox
Resurrection is not a matter of faith,
though also, of course,
it is. Winter’s hand at last
releases the egg,
balanced on end,
and day comes swaying past,
balancing night
upon its head.
Come, let us give occasion
to faith. These rituals
of sage and sweetgrass
are more necessary
than fodder. We forget
the taste of the holy,
those starchy roots
dissolving to sweetness
on the tongue, forget
that we are spinning,
dancing like angels
on a pin. In these
new days given us
however many, however
few, let us stitch ourselves
in time with time,
plant our desires
in the dark moon
of our dark hours
and rise with our savior
in the spring.
Whether or not we believe we are
miraculous, akin.
Drew Dellinger said,
March 21, 2013 at 2:05 am
These poems are FANTASTIC! You rock! Thanks for these blessings.