Glass bead bracelet
in left hand, bag of
black stones in 
right hand, in mouth
spring water lightly salted.  
Empty pockets.
Belt of cloth with
no metal.

At appointed time, 
spit water into fire.
After it has ceased
sizzling, slip on bracelet;
kneel upon a cut log
to count out ten black
stones from that bag.
Line them up on
a hot stone.

Stand and
remove your clothes;
burn them while marching
counterclockwise around
and around flames
ten times. When done,
put stones back in bag
and walk away naked.

What appears behind you: 

ashes:
you call them
ground of being,
source holy of holies.

There is also there
a meaning you didn’t have before,
a god running cover for your passage,
something you made from nothing.
Something as good
as any other ever made.

Then you realize

you are naked and cold
and when it starts to rain you
puzzle yourself into thinking
you missed something,
did something wrong
or backward.  But — 

a ritual done wrong
or backward that didn’t destroy 
the world? Is it possible
that you have so little power? 

The rain, as always,
comes straight down,
drenches you into
atheism.

MY GOD

there are things
I care about
that seem far beyond the reach
any breath of mine might have
once I’ve pushed it out into
our great global sea of air

No word of mine
will ever go far enough
to pierce into every ear
and carry my concern with it
to every person
I love or could potentially love
if only I knew them 

(if only I knew them

for I can’t know every person
and MY GOD that seems
tragic on this planet that seems
more and more tuned to 
a lonely note
a hateful note of discord) 

so let it be known

when I call out
MY GOD 
as I am now

let it be known
all I am doing

is saying that
if there is some Amplification
to be had by saying that
let me have it
for the words that I speak
are never enough
the actions I take
are never enough 
and my concern seems
at once so huge and so small
that even if there is no God
I cannot refuse
to add whatever charge
that may carry
to the effort to make any small thing I might do count

sheer silver drapes

veiled valley view

soft hiss turns to rush

a swift wash

rush turns to roof clatter

road streaming
with gravel swept down
from crown of the hill

cleanse 

roof clatter
to rush
to hiss

reset

A large footprint
in sand, left
by some creature that
would have been
unreal to see
yet was real enough
to press itself
into this damp beach
and leave a mark.

No way of naming
or classifying it from just this —
no clue as to whether
it was mammal,
reptile, alien amphibian,
or something beyond those.

Picture that moment
it came out of the sea
with no one to watch it.
Think of how serenely 
it may have stood there
unobserved, completely
unaware of us. 

Think of
this world as
filled with beings
we don’t know, 

with being that is not
contained within
our own understanding
of that word; 

when you try to return
to how you were 
before this and
resume your place
in that smaller space

you may find a strange mix
of fear and joy when
it chafes, when it no longer
fits as well as it did;
with luck and faith

you may find yourself
returning to this beach
again, and again, 
both when you are awake
and in your dreams.

When they come for your art and being
by
claiming these things are nothing

When they dismiss your opposition
by
hearing nothing

When they drain you dry
by
wiping you to nothing

You can fold
Exhausted into a clear heap
Return to your den
Lick your transparent wounds
and become the nothing
they’ve decreed
or
new and stealthy as you can be
come to them 
as they gloat unaware and

steal back your birthright
in plain sight
because
history has shown 

they will never see it coming