Auguries 4

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Sometimes, when I stare down

the silvered hallways,

my father stares back.

 

Listen.

This you should know my son:

Where sea touches sand

auguries multiply.

In the bellies of starfish,

in the jungles of wrack,

in the salty galaxies of shells

auguries are born.

 

Look.

This rock is a skull,

that cloud, an eagle,

and do you see the mermaid

in that drift of sand and seaweed

when the light is, just so?

 

Now close your eyes

and trace the Shaman’s face

with your sea blind fingers.

It was carved from this driftwood

by a magician,

singing to you.

 

Inundated and confused

I lean into visions,

unable

to decipher anything.

Brave maps become

empty paper bags

dancing in the wind.

Desires become

cascades of crows

released from clouds,

spiraling

through bones of trees.

 

“Try to lean toward ecstasy”

she said,

“and maybe, if possible,

keep leaning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Kudos, thanks and credit to the anonymous driftwood sculptor.

Poem and photograph by clinock.

 

Another Full Moon.

full_moon_dreamsFull moon rising,

your red dress ripped,

my arms and legs torn

by brambles,

cyphers of blood

writing our story.

 

Deep orange

flooding through veins.

Volcanic passage

erupting

across forests

in which we lay down.

 

Lunatics,

our bodies gone,

lost to the full moon,

unable to breath,

struggling

to hold on to us.

 

Deep power

pouring from night.

The stars are singing

through our reaching flesh

as we touch

the trembling sky.

 

We are lost

with the lost moths,

battering their wings

against the burning

illusion

of eternal light.

 

 Moon image courtesy of Google Images. / Poem by clinock.