A white sky, a thin snow,
empty arms of trees
dark curve of waiting cave.
Winter’s king comes back
heavy cup in outstretched hand
red lips parted in a slippery smile
saying “Drink, drink, go in,
find the wild place,
that spring where the wild
bubbles up uncontrolled
where the veined ice skims over black water
the rose meets the vine
and the mask begins to crack.
Let go now, own what is your own
drink deep and grow.
You are the one who invoked me,
how can you be surprised I showed up?”
April 7th 2016
