Dispossessed

There is nothing wicked here
except I do not belong.
Cedar trees rise behind
the sunlit houses, a stream
flows partly visible from porches
through branches and berry vines,
a hawk flies overhead in blue sky
and wooden birds whirl in the wind.

The clean roads lined
with flowers I cannot name
following each other in and out of bloom,
nothing lunges out or bars the way.
I pass through like a hitchhiker
begging a lift, a displaced worker
standing at the freeway entrance
with pleading sign -- take me in.

I will go away to someplace
small and dark, dusty sidewalks,
and say I like it better,
so glad to be far
from the awful brightness
I cannot have.








Household Rituals

I trace a circle on a low table,
light a candle,
on one side spread camillia petals,
drops of perfume,
a notecard with the hexagram
wind over heaven
the power of the small --
through gentleness
success.

On the other side
a pile of cloves for thorns,
body of a spider
crushed on the wall last night,
postcard of a baying wolf,
I hold it in the flame
sides slowly curling,
stream of dark smoke,
and whisper across
the inner edges of the world
your name, away.








Omens

How many omens did we need?
I picked up the penny
from the floor beneath the Hopi
prayer weaving,
later it moved by itself,
the toucan fridge magnet
falling and breaking,
everything downhill.
I barely know your voice.
Over the mountains,
the shadow of the earth
has crossed the moon.