Invocation

We can make it an homage

to ancient arts

Blood spattering the wound

of carelessness

Needle bent to represent

fallow fields

failure

the sword’s edge dulled

 

We can chant to call forth

the shades of old gods

honeyed weight of latent passion

Earth-buried and forgotten

a well-spring

first love

 

We can find a symbol

in anything

Slow-parched fields

under baleful sun

Rain through fissures

of crumbling stone

Lone spoon on the counter

Muddied ticket on the floor

Bright moon pulsing

covered in cloud