". . .the only thing that can save
anyone--intense
and perfect longing." -- Clarissa Pinkola
Estes
Summer has gone, and spring's marimbas
(oh, grapedust blossoms under the moon!)
October now, and petals of cinnabar
on the trees
Cold shadows under the rose-canes;
midnights burnished in blue woad
On shelves in dark cellars,
peaches becalmed in their Mason jars,
grapes asleep in their sea of juice
At noon, honey-gold of the honey locust;
the past is gelled in a bell of light
Old music moves us
to grieve for the might-have-been;
each moment enormous, and all we have
But what awaits us?
Will we sing in the stars over Machu Picchu?
Will we become the guardian angels of antelope?
Pour lithium into molten glass
Nothing can save us but perfect longing