For You, Dionysos
For You, Iakkhos,
I robed myself in twilight silence,
Isolated and Othered,
becoming like a phantom, sliding into sanctity,
so that when I finally cried
“My God, You are Here!”
my voice was a gift and an anchor that
tethered us both to the waiting Earth.
For You, Limnaios,
I submerged my body by candlelight,
in a bath of holy water,
blessed with angel root and holy thistle,
shined my skin with oil and salt,
my cigarette of flowers -- releasing
memories of some past springtime
into the air, like ghosts,
but some always stay,
plant their seeds, spread their roots and
(as You will)
for a more prolonged possession.
For you, Agrios,
I fell in with the Raving Ones.
Such silent predators, they!
To see them is to
sacrificed and subsumed.
We are an eclipse of panthers,
holes in the sky pierced by
silver teeth and claw
as We haunt the forbidden dreams
of yesterdays’ girls.
The seeds are planted and so...
when madness comes knocking,
there is nought to do but remember--
there was never a door.
For You, Katharsios,
I accept the sacrament,
understand the sacrifice,
say yes, with parted lips,
cup to kiss.
You come--flowing, filling my mouth,
fired and fermented, red and raw--
down my throat.
This is Your divine plan, realized over millennia,
to get in the blood, to liberate from the inside out.
You’ve inhabited more bodies
than any other God.
We implore. We desire.
Thou art. Such art.
I am undone.
“For You, my Beloved…”
A bullroarer is still ringing in my ears
as I find myself on the floor.
The weight of holiness has slipped away.
in a post-storm stillness.
I am the lightning-struck tree, forever scorched,
the pitcher, filled
and overturned, filled
sweetly aching, hollow and poured out.
Drums fade -- receding hoof beats
that leave a hundred thousand flower beds
in their wake --
as the pregnant, wine-soaked earth
begins to sing.