In the blue hour

Only if you must

Practice art, but only if you must,
wrote Rilke to the young. Could you bear
a silent life? Of all, this matters most.

Answer yes or no, neither dismissed.
You don't have to write? Some grief you'll spare
yourself. Don't change your life unless you must.

Or, don't even answer. Shelter in mist,
hesitating, holding the heavy air
around your formless heart, gathering most

comforts and distractions, till amassed
children, career, an overkill of cares.
Then practice no art, for you must

not risk regretting the writing you missed.
I hid from Rilke, but squinting in the mirror,
glimpsed myself under the splatter, most

unmodified. No longer young. Half-mast.
The present is a fulcrum. Former years,
I didn't practice art, but now I must.
Of the latter I will make the most.

Bypass Clause

Practice art, but only if you must,
wrote Rilke to the young. Could you bear
a silent life? Of all, this matters most.

What compels your writing? Has it thrust
its root into the depth of your desire?
Then change your life, but only if you must.

The poet offers you a bypass clause.
If you'd not die for art, escape the snare
of losing what you'd thought had mattered most:

steady fortune, reputation, trust
of bosses, spouses, friends—all cast in fire.
You shouldn't practice art unless you must,

unassured of fame, success, applause,
open to the channel of your prayer,
drowning all but what would matter most.

No longer young am I. The years have passed,
so many months and years I wouldn't dare
to place myself in text, but now I must.
Of living's matter I must make the most.

Two cups

I served my love two cups.
She covered her ears and ran away.
Seven I dropped outside her door—
she wrote me an email,
"Don't call me no more."

I wished my love a star,
broke her fingers in a wheel,
and gobbling up the tips,
I picked for her three tulips.

Now, I wait
and wait
and wait and wait and wait
for Maia's smile
for Grace's touch.
I wait for Catalina's call,
for I have given all.

July 2021

Samhain

in the South it's Beltane
dark moon blooming into gold
but over here the sun
is dipping, dipping

we speak softer, silence
stills the edges, fills the center
every leaf disrobing
stripping, stripping

slip, unveiling Spirit
no I, nor you, no marking, no
accounting of our gripes
no gripping, tipping

over into Death
that light and heat may warmth replete
our cousins cross the Stripe
they're yipping, lipping

let's be gracious guests
giving up to God all gifts
delicious dishes done
and sipping, sipping

fennel tea and squatting
over pumpkin slaw, we're drawing
in to keep the wind
from nipping, nipping

these fearsome marvels · Samhain

Luna

Lovers leave you, Luna not. Receive
her mirrored shine, receive her gentle trine
to Venus, Neptune, Jupiter. Receive
your loving moon. The moon was shining for
your mother, hers and also hers. The moon
is mother, lover, friend and brother. Moon,
love letter from adoring, constant God.

Who will have me?

Country, land or city,
which will take me: mutt and motherless?
Who will have me, who would want a girl
who hasn't pedigree? Who will say
to me, "Sister, you are one of us"?

From stately town to forest vale, I wandered,
lonely, clouded heart and restless, journeys
only half-completed, always giving
up, half-hearted, only giving all
my heart to blankly staring boys who didn't

get it. Getting gone each time, afraid
to hear the rhyme, they'd say, "What do you mean?
What do you mean, you don't belong?" Of course,
to them it made no sense. For them a home
was made millennia ago, for them

a home is natural as the out and in,
as simple as their shouting sex. Belonging
isn't trying on, for them—it's shameless.
Why be afraid or shamed of one's own skin?
Who will have me? Not to take and fuck

and eat me—who will see me, want me near,
consider me as family? Who will say,
"Our love, so long we waited, never giving
up. We knew that you'd come back, we knew
you'd come to take your place among us, once

"whatever odyssey you'd sailed, whatever
wicked beast had jailed you, any trial
that delayed you, overcome. We knew
and here you are at last. Here you are.
Here you are at last. Here, at last."

for Vanessa

these fearsome marvels · Who will have me?