All I can do:  

snip threads from the skirt all night I have danced in

                                  Too far away

Cut then, a hole in the center of the lambskin chemise I wear over my chest and heart
not the shape of a heart understood
but the form of a heart that does not require understanding


Only what you do not need can you fully
have.  All I
can



do:

stay on this rug between.  Try to wear holes in it
to glimpse the woman I was before the one poet

told the other: this language will
fail.  And it does.  And
they are saved.

if I crumble, I will crumble with you
love in extremis, we will rise again together
(and who knows if it will be better)
death, death after life
the wheel of the year, the joke on us

strength and weakness
health and illness
the witches, the witches!
live inside of your chest
like hags clawing at what you love best

Unmagic it all so it can be magic again
Unmagic it all so it can be magic again
Reorganize, ******* clean up your brain!
-do nothing instead-
my incantation to myself
Magic never dies, but it resists
any attempt to be sacralized
because the eternal is not holy
it just IS
so swallow your words and your act
swallow all your quest
swallow all that ****