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.”