The wandering edge of the moon
slays you during your slumber.
Lying beneath the tops of trees
unrest stirs in your heart.
The ancient ones
call out from the shadows below.
And, the thin black rope
tied to your navel, tightens
as the earth opens and pulls you in.
Thunder fills the sky with rumbles,
lightning strikes the old dead tree.
Flames are taking over now,
and death waits patiently
for your surrender.
There is nothing left
in your house for remembering
those ways no longer offer hope
The old warm voice calls you:
“Come back to bed and lay with me.”
The truth is
you can no longer help yourself
from dancing with those gray silhouettes
casting themselves upon you
under the new moon’s starry night.
It is time now
to fall back into the river,
where it all began.
There you will drown for the first time
all over again.
There
stepping out on the river’s edge
surrounded by ashes
your navel is now your guide.
Earth trembles
into the cracks of your toes.
The truth is told
sky agrees in raven’s black mouth.
It is time
to live from the place under.
You have always known, there
to be your home.
God’s seat among mortal peasants.
A deeper knowing of the Soul.
A fuller becoming
into the mist at sunset.
