September 23, 2014

fair thee well...

Witches going to their Sabbath (1878), by Luis Ricardo Falero

scythe, sin and seduction

it was panning
a river town’s weekly
street vendor pushcart
peddled congregation
when I first met her

between my open wide
sample eye for honey,
my ribbon bound stalk herbs
zinnias and hardy mums

I must have looked the part
a readied surrendered iron
scavenging slow fires
for the little pieces of me
I had thrown away carelessly
littering along my journey
with forgotten promise
after forgotten promise
pocket warmed vignettes
and fantasies
of what life was
meant to be

once, when I was young enough
to be buoyed by hope
never having to see
beneath possibility
and wished for outcome
I did so think
to gather my lives in jars
to stave off my mortality

(these I’ve lost track of)

she would
say my name
in the song
of the rain
if I came
along with her
while she rode
behind the Sun

I was in no position
to decline
I had been
mining my soul
for some time now
wanting an ore
that would burn me alive
with something more
than the sum
of what I used to be