Time for mind
to phase out
of its prior modes
of knowing.
Time for
the squealing, hot engines
of Day
to rev down towards rest.
See, the sloping
purr of the sun
going west
accentuates the late
hour’s curve
like a bell’s clear hood
flaring over the sea,
filling slow
with the dust of old darkness
and black juices
spilling from the stars.
Fish leap like pagan gods
with dog-heads up from
the bay’s rumpled robes
chased with silvergold water.
Hear each mailed and scaled knight
gilled and gauntleted
gasping the prophecy
of two mediums melding
to make one mystery whole….
Mystery of light and motion
thirst and decision
wetskin wanting moon
to peel it back
to feathered bone.
Fish stretching out for flight
hungering to become bird.
Don’t hesitate any more.
Be at home in the changing air.
Come back to our only world.
