Circles Join

3 March 2021

Yesterday I said that Yemaya had appeared in my work. I know her by many signs, but it took until this afternoon to make the most obvious connection. Someone I know died of drowning nearby, and one of her names was very similar. I am still feeling minor aftershocks from my friend’s passing. Aye, it’s almost Spring Equinox to the daylight world, but it’s still Day of the Dead in here.

What ever are the Lovers up to today? She’s feeling a little under the too-bright weather:

3 March 2021


He’ll Know Why

She woke up alone in the bed where she’d lain

in the hours before midnight at which time she’d died

now she was only a wraith and a stain

that would fade if it went all unread so good-bye

To the mare of the mattress and mother of pain

how often your patience rewarded my tears

she’s gone to the water she’s leaving no stain

I’m following after I have all these years

She woke up alone with a ray on her face

that was softly resplendent and carried her far

tell me your name at the height of your grace

as you shine in the night like the high silver star

Crossing over and soon to be drowned in the sea

like the sleeper whose dreams were too deep as they lay

in the cradle that rocked them to much stranger sleep

till a whisper came over them overboard way

Breathe in and in till the faery world shines

like a bright silver beacon she’s sent out to play

on the eyelids and lashes of one who so pined

he remembered each whispering word she would say

In the hours after midnight her dead body rose

to the urgent desire of the searchlight he made

of his own mortal body no burden no clothes

no skin and no skeleton comes forth arrayed

In the waves of the ocean her spirit has bathed

with inherent high frequency midnightly stayed

reminders of starlight his eyes will recall

she’s awake in the night where the strange love is made

Mother and mattress of childbed and pain

she’s always a girl who cries out loud and plain

there once was a man with a once-over eye

if he finds her he’ll know she’s still dying of stain


About J

formal verse poetry and commentary at
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