the coming feast of earth; or, like the moon, towards dark

near the festival of first fruits and the dark moon, 42011

for 17 days
after seeing you
beyond voice
breathe out "please help me"

i see how the wane will come
and i cannot eat or sleep, i cannot
take it in, and also the gladness
overpowers me, i see how perfect
everything is, just as it is

it's a relief to return home from the airplane
i feel guilty for the beauty of my life
a hospital room is a kind of jail
and wellness only comes for visits

to never taste again, to never breathe deep on my own
what does that mean?
i think the waning moon, moving towards black
knows more than she's letting on, could help us both

what do you think it means, the festival
of the harvest of first fruits? all that we eat
has died first, dies into our bodies, which
82 x 365 x 24 x 60 seconds of writ(h)ing later
we also die into the earth

the earth eats us,
that's what a grave is,
a mouth

i am glad to be feastware
for the belly of gaia
may i be a splendid repast
for the swirling girl
giddy and young
who dances her way round
with black knower moon

may
the tin-stitched etymologies
of your poems
be spice and mint so i am savory
for the coming feast of earth