Four Sacrifices to Aphrodite - 2019

Mar 15

Four sacrifices to Aphrodite.

Four gifts to the sea.

I never felt made for this.

Names for the Book of Life,

always, "I don't want to be that name."

Neither did I.

Not once.

Not twice.

Not three times, not four.

But know I speak each Name like the Name of a Star giving birth to holy planets.

I give them all to the secret labyrinth of loves lost,

like pieces of bread torn apart to take me through the

dark woods again.

I feel made for these woods,

this tossing and turning the sea borrows from me

is the twisting and turning through braided air currents

dropping me from crooked road to plastic path

and I can smell the shift in the wind...

the rain is coming, the lightning reminds me:

I already know the way.

I give them all to the secret labyrinth of hope and holy risk.

Every kiss is borrowed from the Weaver.

Every limb-lengthened and fluid-spilled pleasure.

Every tongue-wrapped word-forged fight.

Every heart-cradled, bed-messy catharsis.

Borrowed, gifts, sacrificed to the black sow who eats her young...

I feel made for this.

These woods, this love, this pain, this grief.

So I go to the sea and give her everything,

and they say,

We take all, we swallow everything.

I'll take all, I'll swallow everything you would ever give.

Three swords, three ladies,

all gone, to the sea.

ART: Masque of the Four Seasons, Walter Crane (1845-1915)

I want to tell you about the kindness of my Gods.