THE CLOSET MYSTIC

Come, my darling,

Come drink from this cup — 

I’ve prepared for you

Moonwater, from our lady above

Sip from the silver ambrosia

Take in her distilled essence 

Breathe in new life

And renewed luminescence

she’s missed your gaze

Tracking her transforming

from gibbous to crescent

Open your hands,

Make below like above,

Fill your heart with the heavens

…

Pitifully, 

condescendingly,

did he ask me:

“How does it feel,
Knowing you’ll be lost at sea

Your entire life?”

Chin up,

I looked him in the eye.

I chuckled. 

“How could anyone

possibly

be lost at home?”

…

Here is the Mother’s hand strongest.

Here does my patroness 

make her voice 

the loudest.

You’ve deluded yourself

With fantasies of solidity.

It is the nature of nature

That the only constant

Is inconstancy 

I make my home,

In the protean epitome.

I’ve already dissolved,

Such that 

little will change

When I expire. 

I know those,

So intent on separation,

In this vast and chaotic sea,

That they will willingly 

Keep themselves from the Sun

To make themselves so cold

That they become 

ice.

No, 

I embrace those rays.

I melt,
I melt,

I melt.

I am not afraid.