Waning (a ritual poem)
Whipping winds and sirens screech together
my mind’s eye twitched so
I sat on the floor and lit four
candles. Three as a triangle
and one in the center
All doors and walls open
electricity trailing
howling hounds around the neighborhood.
A man from the sidewalk wailed
and the rain began to cry. Sob, with velocity and rage
next to no sympathy. Static
I breath it
seeping in and out of me.
The flames of candles roaring higher, chaos symphonies
pulling together
in the palm of my hands, blooming like a flower, a prism of light. I sent it to different parts of my body. I regulated my breath, muscles stretch and lightning sears
a nearby tree. I held my pose, Master
of chaos around me. I laughed. A jester. Buried deep in the hole
of contemplation. I let it go
the storm does too
I crouch with a limp spine now
water pours off gutters
I plant myself with each corner
Center my eyes above my heart.
“There is nothing else.”