Ritual: A Poem by Marc Vincenz

Bell
Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash

Ritual

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

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