i'm ba-ack!

written 11/06/08

i find my forgetfulness
postponing celebration unawares,
forgetting until an hour
an hour after the cross-
quarter to remember,to
observe, to pray, to think,
ponder, meditate on the meaning
of this fleeting month in
the spinning, rotating, and
revolving of this planet. i
forgot the morning valediction
and the sun-set
greeting, but i didn't forget
the ceremony in late afternoon
cloaked with gusting,
biting wind and
spotty dark
gray clouds
blotting out the
sky which hid behind. My
candles have not forgotten,
nor my incense,
burning and curling like a
frightened centipede on
red Zairian dirt. The
bizarre exotic scent permeates
the room, lingering
even after extinction of
the glowing coal, evoking
cellular ancestral memory--
spiritual or bloodline--of
Zoroastrian magi, astrologers
with their offerings for the
Kindler of the stars, camels
huffing and snorting clouds
of condensation in the
cold December air, the desert
is cold at night and a rare
species of snowflake dances
in Baghdad skies. I
wonder if Daniel ever knew
the cold of snowflakes on
desert nights, or did the
fabulous Hanging Garden grow
in richer, more fertile
soil, like the Sumerian crescent
paying obeisance to the prefiguration
sun-child, Inanna, solstice-born,
descending and returning
and conquering and harrowing
the Underworld with rays of
undeniable lunar radiation,
gravity pulling all to herself
like tidal waves, illuminating
every nook of hell and
every cranny
of Dumuzi,
latent
lapsed
lover,
waystrayed,
prodigal,
but returning to her light like
a moth, a resurrective butterfly.
Its butter-colored
wings fluttered by two days
ago in the little green
north meadow, reflecting
the yellow of sun too warm
for the deep autumn, but
hey, it's Ioway, many Indian
summers, now and to come.

Two years, two revolutions
previous, i saw a butterfly
flutter by in that November,
and my mind's own butterfly
alighted on the
flower of thought, a thought
of changing climate, of dark
(and hot) forebodings of a
future lake of fire on earth. Tongues
deny and deny, but the glaciers shrink
as years go by. This next layer
of ice will bear the marks of
cleaner air, the people have
spoken in favor of cleaner breathing,
no more smog masks or children
with underdeveloped lungs. Snuff
out your light; this fossil fuel
addiction will make you a fossil
in undue time.

the black basking bast
cat has ears leaning forward
like a ferengi for every
vibration and twitter of
sound, her eyes
like almonds
blend into
her face, pupils
waxing to take
in more light
from the dimness that surrounds
her this evening.