PERSEPHONE'S FEAST DAY
I offer now bread,
red fruit, red wine.
To life.
To the dreamers, planters and gatherers,
to makers and unmakers,
the innocent and the wise.
To the inarticulate, lost, hungry, and fallen,
to every transparent lover wandering
these grey bardos in their solitude.
Come to the table, all.
Here is a rich conversation
harvested from the last
living garden.
A dappled pear, an apple, a pomegranate.
A butterfly in it's chrysalis, winged, moist,
the slow rebirth of color
deep in the depths of this dream.
The weathervanes will turn again.
The wheat has new life in it yet.
The blessing will still be given.
2005
