I’m not going to speak

about the unspeakable Not in the way we speak on an ordinary night Eye will tell you about the belladonna and foxglove unshy beneath the crescent moon Waning beneath winter’s last breath in the redwoods Just a little more time A turn and all that is wick will rise and reach A dance to get to harvest Just so we can all do it all over again Yes know there is a horror that exists always A view of the corporal body that is much too hard to bear Know too how the moral stain falls off and into the rabbit grass of spring Your astral body returning to stars and bioluminescence