April 2

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.

Happy Easter

P.S.  I think the last Sunday

Before the final full moon

Before the Autumnal equinox

Ought to be called Wester Sunday

&

We would celebrate some harvest-themed

Religious imagery, like the chopping off

Of John the Baptist’s head,

&

The Wester Ox would come & hide

Candy-corn

In the yard.

concern

Some (in)definitions:

wildly

to all who have walked with me in the precious inbetween:

N'ifonlyo

In where enters here when exits ear?