A Society of Three Bowls (Part IV of V)

IV: A Bowl of Darkness

“…but late at night the feelings swim to the surface…”
Régine Chassagne

Asherah might have spoken up, but now
removed I can’t tell. Seems it could be winter.
Sure my boots bear out the sighs of stagnant rivers.
Stench like winter. Is it?
winter? Aurelia out of town, where did
she keep her bones? How
does she do it?

Still I could refuse belief. In
actions are my new beginnings, so you’ll have to prove it.

Boat ashore and that root earth only in dreams,
one needs no sleep
in blazing shadows of the sodium lamp,
the streets
afloat with life and highs and light we
make, and will it now and
will it ever dreamily

(A knife’s width
and the split
of the matter:
two beginnings offered
in two ends.

On the one hand
end of no end; this new nature taking from the old land
springtimes birthing summers, but then autumn breaks
some newer springtime; Asherah summoned, reemployed
and looser-handed for it; old and new Aurelias, bones thrown, no voids;
only the same pain
over and over, a dull blow breaking the same veins;
everlasting night washed out by lights that stay.

On other hand
the end, embraced;
a sigh of rest; unphotographed repentance.
Season of the phone call to your parents.
Falling asleep and
waking to a new spring
not of your own making.
Muscles stretching
to the real hand.

Bluntly said, the crops and harvests do
not need you.
It goes the other way: to be you
does not mean to be your own.
To be you means to
roots. You
are not you
until you know who
holds you.)




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