There it sits;
on the night stand of a Motel Six –
next to my RayBans and twin Tibetan bracelets ordered from a new-age catalogue,
one inscribed: I honor the Divine within you;
the brass and copper symbols of the other proffer hopefully: I am one with the Universe.
There it sits
on the bureau top, entangled with the silver chain
that holds the pentagram I wear, symbol
of Spirit to matter, matter to Spirit –
its quartz crystal wedges between the pillow and the back of my neck
in bed; to be without that is to be completely naked with you.
There it sits;
on the desk near the laptop –
It’s thick, $6.00 plastic band disagrees
with laptop keys lined up tightly like peas
in a pod. I take it off;
my right wrist breathes a sigh of relief. Now I can write.
Now I am between worlds.
O, river of time on a small white face,
black features etched and arranged in a circle
precise as Stonehenge;
O, indiglo face that could light my way on a long, black night
or in some dark emergency
should I remember, should I choose
to use you – to take you off and put you on and take you off
seems like some gratuitous game to exercise the ultimate power,
the way a child plays chicken,
the way a child wades
into the river and changes the flow
of the river with its body.
O, rough river of current that ravages
the body I wade into you with –
I know this is no game
and I know it is a game;
I am one with the universe, or try to be.
I am one with the flow of time’s current
that ravages me.
In and out I step;
on and off I take you.