This Is What I Am

this is what I am:
blood, dust, and ochre.
and the wail of tree branches
rubbing together in a storm
but bound in gossamer
powdered with light
and feathered with sea foam
woe to anyone in western civilization
who tries to live in myth or eros
they will set you rolling the stone
up and down the mountain
until you bleed newspapers and
tatter into broken beer bottles,
until your worst nightmares come true,
and you get used to them
take me down easy
let me ride the fog curls as they rise from the sea
let me learn the shape of my own silence
let me slip through the rough edges of flesh
like a child playing with its toys
you who have the eyes of a stray dog
and who constantly taunts the blatantly possible
and who is willing to endure the challenge of perversity
despite its cheap fuzzy mornings
drink at my stream
let me overflow my banks
play me the way I mean it, not the way I sing it
help me capture the strangely graceful
Don't you hear your soul crying?
you want me? you can have me
Goddess, be our guest at this feast
It is already a wilding dream