ritual no. 10

if you meet an autumn wind

she’ll sooth your summer burns

and reminisce with you the joy

you found those days when you fell for

the cashier at the corner store

ritual no. 9

i want to spell the sound of windshields wiping in the rain, how it sounds a bit like passing cars through pools. or like sweaters shuffling and spoons kissing mugs filled with coffee. how thoughts of you fill me like an heirloom black umbrella and what words i said when i prayed for rain and the next day it came

ritual no. 8

one night the moon sang for me

a song that’d never been sung

like the night i first was kissed

i was someone’s only

ritual no. 7

i want to know the words that make mountains move and rivers flow

i hear a voice when standing on the rocks and the voice speaks in light only and i hear it in light only and i think it’s an echo of those words

i wonder if we also hear our mother’s voice in the days before we’re born. and if we hear our names in the moments after. i wonder what light someone has spoken to me and i only heard their words so i only heard my words so the light flickered in the wind. i wonder if as children there’s even a difference between light and words but in fear of the dark we start to grow old

i think the mountains and rivers know, and that’s why they seem so familiar

ritual no. 6

send me fictions in the day light. something i can read and reread. like the holy scripture jotted down from a time by the river. calligraphy said in braille bumps along your back. fingertips tapping dots and dashing up along my arm. written like words that are prophecy but the moment’s timeless so we leave it at that

ritual no. 5

she likes to use a saffron brush,

the goddess of decay:

and if at golden hour you bring a bloom from spring

she’ll take you to the aspen grove

where summer souls tell stories

like love and honey and worries

from days beneath sun

then they count their blessings one by one

and toast and sing before she brings

them to the autumn hollow

ritual no. 4

i don’t mind if you haunt me

and grab me when i think i’m alone. if i can’t sleep because i hear you in the room or i tremble when you breathe on the back of my neck. if i see you in the shadows and i wake up with scratches. if things aren’t where i left them and you’re standing in the mirror writing on the walls behind me,

i don’t think i’d mind

ritual no. 3

leaves fall and

rain falls and

snow falls and

night falls and

cities fall

and rivers fall and

bells fall

and

eyes fall and

it all is

falling down

and calling out

tears falling

down my voice

screaming out breath

wrapped about what’s

at the bottom and

.

i think it’s gravity and.

i think you’re gravity and.

i think i’ve fallen

ritual no. 2

i want to meet the person

who lives inside my dreams

the soul who’s forgotten

of all these worldly things

i wonder if that person's me

or who i’d be if i could be

beholden to the moment and

what’s in front of me. but those things

in front of me, are all just made by me

so that person in my dreams maybe isn’t me

instead

i must be the room whose doors are always changing

and the faces always fading

i’m the fright who has been chasing

me round; and the phantom legs that weigh a hundred thousand pounds

also i’m the love who i knew at once. already having memories enough,

then i must be the setting coral sun and coral rays of light

because i am the world i dream

of each and every night

ritual no. 1

to souls

like house plants,

cemeteries feel natural—

something about the

presence of

worms