PIACULAR’S CRY

.

Dark mist rising,

Drum beneath a keening sky

This scent of loam, of leaf, of yearning,

Of memory’s wail

And piacular’s cry...

Evanescent expiation,

Yearning’s lusts abhorred.

Penitential rumination,

But no solace nor a respite

Nor understanding toward…

Revisit and addition to an old friend during this forced virus pause.

The one-eyed man is king

In the country of the blind,
     Where men refuse the seen,
     Where oblivion reigns
           and denial rules most proud.
     Where seers prate and preen
           the falsehoods of the day.
In all the darkened corners
    One-eyed beggars see the light.

Beauty amidst Pain

Trilliums push up in my yard,
     Spring has coaxed them out.
No need to distance,
No virus to hinder.
            Just the pull of an ancient call,
            The warmth of a thawing world,
And a promise for the future.
       

And so the storm…

And so the COVID storm, this sudden surge of unexpected wave-born pain. Uncertainty fences challenge – thrust, feint…and parry.

With little quarter given amidst our grim despair,

Worry parries hope as need harries our bottomless loss.

And all the while it rains down numbers, an exponential torrent,

All lightning figures that fork and branch

Illuminating nothing.