[as yet untitled]

Janus in a collar
sees the leash and the season,
the hand and the door--
an aspect for all but
the present.

His doors swing,
never closed, never opened.

* * *

Two tongues.
Two minds.
Two visions.
Six versions of "truth"
from faithless doors
wound down hallways
lined in leaves
pressed in wine
stepless feet without
echoes--emphasis
from the empty windows.

The loaded god, lockless,
pacing, passes with a flash
of divine dumbness,
foreheads like smooth stones,
thurible thoughts
creasing the two brows.

* * *

Twin hungers, change and movement,
the masters of Janus,
leathery lips pressed
to his neck,
guide the collared divinity.

From peak to grass patch
he moves
eyes devouring mirrors,
moving the seasons,
senseless to the ritual.

---
03.10.06
MWL

"A Rejoicing"

Oh, where, my Muses, have you slept?
You have slept in me, for I have slept.
But the dogwood opens, and the frost dies,
and beneath the waxing and the waning moon,
between the rising and the falling tides,
the world awakes.

* * *

The Queen of Wands raises her staff,
the Queen of Cups lifts the chalice,
the Queen of Swords raises her hand,
and the Queen of Pentacles raises a rose.

Their Kings will nod,
their Knights will sing,
and the Pages will dance.

These, my Muses too, will remind me
what I still have to do,
what is still precious,
what still remains
throughout the seasons of this world.

* * *

All language is love,
all song is thought,
and the spirit of Spring
means that all is made new.

---
03.03.06
MWL