no longer spoken aloud
to mingle with the busy words
that fill the mouth and
crowd the day, the moment
a candle in the inky night,
a flame in the dervish wind.
A held gaze, a muttered euphemism.
The invocation unsaid.
It’s no surprise I never
make the list, I don’t arrive
invitation in hand. I go
where the spirits speak,
follow the unencumbered
compass of come what may.
The path is there to follow,
the way is there to go.
The words don’t carry,
the words don’t work.
Fumble with your locks and
seal your circles. Wear
your blessings around
your neck. The prayers
come unbidden, spilling
like secrets. The words
come unwanted, waking
blind in the unsettled night.
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