Photo by Chris Barbalis on UnsplashRitual
Nonsensical to pass through each house
To clear the air of ghosts by ringing
A rusty temple bell. The light of
The April day scorns your true beauty. Even
When my heart is at an angle, the sun
Elevates; hold out your hands and spin
In a circle dervishly. Of course, you
Are adored by the dreamers, and the love
You seek will be poured upon you. In time
The fellowships of ancient societies fade
The spirits in all their kindred fallacies
Too; all the sense is in the grain
Of the wood, deep in the structure, and when
It has been struck by lightning, the
Scarred grief holds us up by our feet
Tenuous, an old man traversing rocks
In a flowing stream. I’d love to be able
To lie to you, but my hands reveal all
The fire of that kiss from forever, the
Storm that raised the cornfields, the boun-
Ties unleashed in the rain … ashes, on
The other hand, can be deceiving. For now
Let us just stroll into the distance, where
The sun flies low along this plot of land