Turning


Oh, imperfect flesh
I love you most of all.
Witnessing this beautiful sunset.
I cannot play the tyrant and force
this moment to stay.
Somewhere in the world
it is always day.
I have made friends with
sticks and stones, grains and crystals.
Nodes within this web,
with cat claws
I pick my trembling way.
The fourth brain.
The fourth cup.
We don't know yet
how holy this blood is.
Tasted with caution,
tasted with courage.
And we find it is
its own reward.
To face the sun
and not stand beneath it.
I am my mother's sister.
Eye to eye,
not for, but with.
Blood is a small price for this
limitless love.
Rings of steel, tin, and copper.
With this light
I could stay forever.
But wings warn me
that I must go.
There is a rest for me.
And I shall not return,
lest I admit I have learned nothing.
And that the mad gods were right
and all we understand
is not mercy
but might.