solstice fire

as the rains subside
we drool into the earth,
vanishing as stones drown,
into silent mud;
we’ve unmasked the world
turning silence into silver
daimon eyes stripping the essential
violence of birth,
dying to create:

clouds move across stars,
a cool wind rises as you walk;
music from a flute of purple flowers raining,
a glass leaf, exquisite in every vein,
turns in a child-god’s hands.

the wind that blows between the worlds
bends the air, igniting your hands,
your eyes; the doors open,
the light of the place between
slips into the frame, actinic, inviting;
the jewel of the worlds spinning,
each facet a new world:
choose. choose.
create your life.

we are our own gods:
what madness we grow from
is the end we chose to create;
spinning on the end of a flute,
blood luck dripping from the player’s hands,
warm whirlwinds shape today from tomorrow,
unnamed, unknowable until chosen.