Invocation (A Recipe)

List of Ingredients:

A ceramic mug
Filled with black coffee
A shot of espresso diffusing into the mix
Clock not yet cracking the whip
Of work
Thoughts not yet beholden to the business
Of running the world
On time

Sacred baseball cap set
Exactly right
According to Scripture
Phone tuned to confidential signal
Moment carved and stolen
From stone

An invitation
Sent
Through the slot aligned
By tumblers ordered to attention
Combination spun
A vault door  that swings open

Instructions:

When Promise sits there
A come hither
Smirk on her lips
Stir in your passion
While you can
Before she gets away

You will follow her because
She is burnt umber
Rotting leaves
The scent of gun powder
Pheasant shit mixed with
Plucked feathers

Give her
A broach
Wrapped in gold
Warm her by your fire
Hold her
Say yes
Lose yourself
Cut fear from the edges
Discard searching
And
Confusion

Open and pour in
Sweetness
Cry
Run ripe memory over the grater
Unlock your mind's tool shed
Simmer things you cannot
Throw away
Any more than you can operate without
Blood

Sling words down
Into a well
They will ricochet off the stone walls
Before splashing in the cold
Subterranean sea

Saute a moment
To write
Just write
No matter who gives a good
Goddamn

Salt liberally the song that wafts up out of the darkness
Separate the words that don't matter
Pull out the invocation

Surround the chords with
The melancholy notes
That turn the key
Open the valve

Let the grief drain
Free now
Down a river
Of light and
Smoke

Bees

They say the bees are in trouble

That flowers may soon be

Absent when attendance

On Earth is taken

That the red of tomatoes

The buxom purple of eggplants

The stain of boysenberry

Thimbleberry blackberry red rasping berries

Have numbered days

They say the bees are

Hungry lonely sick and

That they no longer dance.

We have given them too much of what

They don’t want

Taken away what little they need.

The handmaids of sex

The midwives of ovaries

The acolytes of nectar

Magic dust

Secret errands

Blossoming trysts

Serving pleasure to plants

Fleshy fruits to palates

It would be infinitely lonelier without

The bees the berries the flowers all that

Fertility

For now

A tree waits

Petals a riot of silken seduction

Open receptive engorged

Only for the lover 

The perfect lover

Years

Sawdust swirls around us

Like January snow

As the chain snarls

Its way through

Blow-down pine

The muffler’s hot breath

Melts a golden bead of sap

That drips onto the singing

Blade 

That chews through

Decades.

Rings mark the swings

Of seasons

Cutting reveals

Years

Infused with memory

Running backwards

The night on a Mexican bus

When I took your hand.

Through the year I found you

And loved you on this

Mountain

Moon, silken thighs

A lion wailed below us

In the canyon.

When we cut the pieces

To fireplace size

You hold the squirrely

Log by broken branch pegs

Like hands on a clock

Locked in place

The second hand

Pauses at noon

Freezes there in memory

Your hands are small in my gloves

Inches from the hungry teeth

As they devour again and again

The clock resumes

Your eyes still bright

Set in wrinkles

Soon in winter the

Years will rise up the chimney

Set free by the dutiful wind. 

Tantra on Highway 491, Just North of Shiprock

There in the old Subaru

When I touched the electricity

Of your thigh

We stepped out of time

Gentle

Slow

Silk rhythm

Stay here my dear

Don’t rush

The blood to ripeness

Eighty miles an hour outside

Slow burn inside

Your bare feet on the dash

Skirt hiked up

Panties pulled to one side

Heat and secrets mingle

Turn spirals

Yours with mine

Lives overlap

Mists dance with mystery

At the portal I

Invite the All of you

In to sit and dine

Over naked hilltop after hilltop

Horizon over horizon

Down through valleys

Past knife edges of rock

Crumbling lava

Remnants of violent thrust

Slow through the rez towns

Newcomb

Gallup a long ways off still

So full the tendril hurts

Pushing against a loamy crust

In search of light

The sun hot on the most tender

Stillness

Even a hint would render

A tear in the

Translucent fabric

Of heartbeats

Tires float above

The tarmac

Intent
Suspended

Lifted for a moment unbearable

From the weight

Of this earth

The Letter

I wrote the words
no one else could hear
in a letter

A secret went
out
an arrow released
a burden too heavy
now shared

I have fallen

I had no choice

But I did

I have yet to learn
to cup
loneliness
in the palm
of my solitude

Espiritu Carnal

Megan and I had dinner with Fred and his new wife Bev last night at Rosa’s. We sat at a table covered with brightly patterned tiles that caught and reflected the raucous light. Mariachis trumpeted a sad ballad. Mexican calendars for sale on a far wall displayed Aztec warriors on summits of volcanoes standing over virgins while others portrayed saints rising in rapture: some hot with plumes of passion and mango sunset -- others cool, blue, spare, full of ethereal mystery. Sex or purity? Which would I hang on my wall? We talked about how naked the desert feels, how bare, empty -- how cacti have to be spiny and toxic to survive. Then the food came. We ate cheese melted on tortillas, scooped up mounds of Spanish rice, refried beans, greasy chips. Salsa burned. Bev washed it down with a diet soda, Fred a root beer. I swirled the Negra Modelo in the bottom of the bottle, dark as molasses. Fred’s eyes welled when he invoked Donna, his first wife, who died two years ago. Bev held his arm. He said he wanted to see Donna again, and felt that he would. Megan talked about the afterlife as I scraped at melted cheese that felt like it had been welded to the plate and tried to imagine death. I knew Megan would choose the saint to hang above her altar. I put my arm around her and felt my hand pass through her as it would through mist. She talked about the body and the soul and the impermanence of things. I looked at the streaks of gold in her hair, the curve of her neck. I hoped that later we would make love. Fred said time had no beginning and no end, that it was a giant circle. He knew that Donna was somewhere in that circle and that he soon would be there too. He leaned forward on his elbows to make the point. Bev tightened her grip. After flan and coffee we sat back, quiet, satisfied. It was enough. It was all we had. Then Rosa switched off the lights behind the cash register. Tables emptied. Waitresses tallied accounts. Fred thanked us for dinner as I put on the black jacket. The first chill of autumn stood patiently outside, waiting to punch the clock of night.

Sacred Geometry

I swear to God
My mother as witness

Her ass was a work
Of fucking art

An inverted heart-shaped
Masterpiece of  curves
Drawn by some divine compass

Sacred bulbs
At the base of her back
Between the dimples
Of her hips

Geometry made flesh
Holy constellation
I never studied
Leaves me still
Spell bound
Tongue tied
Thunderstruck

Eyes voice mind soul
of course
chemistry
is more than physical magic

Dare I say love
opened my eyes to the
wonders of skin bone
iridescent life
glowing mystery
beneath velvet skin? 


But what can I tell you?
That I would burn down the perimeter walls
Sign over every cent I own
Hand the keys to my castle
For a day
Or an hour
Or a moment
A touch?

Let loose in the yard
My lust would scatter the
Chickens
Flood the granary
Lay bare tomorrow

Beauty sometimes is just
Too sweet
To swallow
Digest
Forget

I had to tell someone

But no, you can't say such a thing

And it's better left that way

Desire burns brighter
The further it
Sinks down into folds
Of steaming want

Hunger stoked
By moonlight
Soars outward
From carnal
Earth
Into cold
Empty space

Where it becomes
The midnight backdrop
Of stars

 A round note
of howling
song

As I sing
to no one but you
impaled on the
lance that is
this blessing
this curse