A Full Moon Rite That Began On A Bus To A Train To A Library To Vote
Networks ripple along errands and indulgence,
sacred conversation in person, over text
I bought some books and supper and made
a sigil between courses and sips of rosé
The sunset drew a blanket over the house,
something to keep in the flow, the fire & work
Here is the harvest of living, at the beginning,
at the end, an invitation to ashes, to smoke
So much is broken, open like a cracked egg
or a wasp's next, or a heart's chambers
This is not square one, this built environment of
intention; this is the invitation behind shadow
My racing heart and warning thoughts are well-
known, but have never before been here
Burn of letting go and asking for a present I
can love and honor fills the house even after hours
I will sleep in the lingering campfire, the reminder
that surrender is a set of tasks, like dying
Spears of autumn's flowers poke up from last year's
delights and become entirely other than
Each seed carries stories it must tell to learn
and grow to understand and only for one season:
how strong the sun on a day of bumblebees
how delicate the wind after lashing rain and clippers
Which part of me is the gentle spring soil, the first
warmth of sunshine welcoming leaves to uncrumple
Where is the warmth that remembers to protect
such airy matter, lush model of the life to come
Each threshold bears a prayer of gratitude,
a blessing of honor, a thrum of together
It is only to be present. It is not reaching for next.
It is not yearning for better than was.
I smell the smoke of spellwork and feel my skin
grow itself anew like champagne or centipedes
The moon keeps its counsel tonight and I frolic in
its wake, tenderly and on toward morning
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