April 1

Muckabout in past become so sound a present.

If we’re wise we no the difference (there is know difference).

& certain principal bedstones of worship emergent—

A holy meal. A fig remembered. Dove. An olive.

Fermented liquids of abundance-fruit.

Steps & curtains. Keepers of the god-head.

A little room. A little door. A broken oak one once

would climb. Limbs a brittle soaked in shotglass dusk.

The wash: we clean we cleanse, leer diadem withins,

a bright blessed meandering rain—

Whatever is true, we name the sun. Shake our salt out

on the altar. Pepper. Basil. Sage. Our slumber sears, lemonlooking.

Drops just some to tart the spicelip slip. Not lost; we all

must lose together to be lost. High on nigh on here, O ear!

Ghost will gamble, angel clear. Cold.

When we notice it’s been spring a while, sends a calm

back into the shivering shrines of white wilderness.

“The dark days,” we are fond of saying,

                                  “made the blue ones blue!”

There is no color called blue.