Your only hope is Presence.
The enchantress walks barefoot
through your fallow chest.
through your fallow chest.
As soon as the do-er dissolves,
She dances you.
Don’t waste one more exhalation
Just choose beauty, whatever feels
like an egg breaking inside you.
like an egg breaking inside you.
Hum another earth without names.
The gift will not appear
until you are grateful.
You dreamt this machine,
now you want to fix it.
Why not just wake up?
Bow your head and pour out
all your pronouns, a libation
to the lord of bewilderment.
You could be a seed
under galaxies of snow,
warmed by the tears of the wolf moon.
Or an old man curled
in a wide-eyed embryo.
You could dart between seasons,
between slippery genders,
half salamander, half hairless
cloven-hooved boy
with ancient mossy antlers,
your flute clogged with pollen,
your stamen and pistil fused
in erotic solitude.
Let your voice of praise be softer
than silence
falling in a crocus cup.
Invoke green nipples of Spring
swollen among the furrows
of breathing out and in.
Photo from nj.com
