Dirty Little Secrets

What are you doing here?
What do you want?
Is it enlightenment?
We can be enlightened.
I think you want something more.
Is it white lies… or dark truth?
Am I talking to you?
Or me?
Are you looking for your soulmate?
Maybe you should look in the mirror.
Your soulmate is right there.
You’re with your soulmate right now.
You are a child of the gods,
no less than the stars,
and regardless of the drudgery
and broken dreams,
you are still a beautiful being,
carrying your hell around with you.
Things are not exactly as they seem,
but then again,
the opposite is also false.
I’m not talking to an imaginary person.
I’m talking to you,
myself,
there’s no difference, really.
We aren’t actually separate.
Lost in the vanity of the senses
got us where we are.
I’m getting out of here.
Where are you going?
To the other side, of course.
Everyone has their own magic.
Is it possible that She
will have forgiven Me
for dreams continuously crushed?
Perhaps an affluent end
can make up for ages of poverty,
or one day of success
will lull us to sleep.
I will find you.
When you really look for me,
you will see me instantly.
I should have realized.
You are really from beyond the tomb,
beyond the womb.
There is something to be seen within
an eternity of hot salty tears.
The mistress of silence
dragging a cherished image.

if suddenly I met you
one day on the street
no words would come
my mouth would go dry
my skin would turn pale
time would be frozen
the hours would be endless
as they have been
while you were gone

strange to think, how those
who did me the most injury,
no one will remember,
death will finish them
flittering and invisible,
yet sounds of grief, caoining
and wailing, will be heard
emanating from a poet’s house
a great many times

I must take care
not to peer back
through that gray
slant of time
when the sea told me
as it roared into the rocks
my husband was waiting
in the tales passed down
one to another
to the others

memories live on
in the whisper
of summer winds
Were I to return
in the silence
of his dreams
I would meet him bare
‘neath the saffron
standing shoeless
hand on hip

forever words
spoken, forgotten,
taken for granted
surely you must miss
something about me
I sing the song
facing the night sky
swallowing raindrops
dark and deep
like the sea

I give it all up…
everything
every.single.fucking.thing
that I ever cared for
I will not hold on
I will not clutch and grasp and cling
to anything
things will not be
taken from me
every.single.fucking.time
that I have loved
my work — all that I am
to carry this love
to comfort those who long
to gaze ever at the heart of it
and not to have
with one silent tear
love filled the night
and the sky rained stars
forever

ever seen the Crow Girls, black as black can be,
flying high in the Sky, over Land and the Sea,
calling, guiding loved ones newly passed away
to the OtherWorld through the Veils thin and grey, thin and grey

ever seen the Crow Girls, perched round the battlefield,
neither victors nor the vanquished will ever be revealed,
wings that shimmer in the glimmer of the early morning light
through the mists and the smoke on their flight, on their flight

ever seen the Crow Girls, singing ‘neath the moon
of the sadness and the gladness that both fill their tune,
piercing hearts that know the secrets of the Crow Girls’ song
knowing deep down inside it won’t be long, won’t be long

nothing like the sun
her love is rare,
the color of dusk and of dawn,
sing of three silent things:
night falling, moon rising, mist swirling,
shapes are fluid, flawless
little songs, little wandering airs
in the music of the rain,
to the sea in comfort,
she is watching every coast
for the green cloak of your soul,
a piece of writing, worthy of all love,
from the deep place, the poet’s roots
of swans and yews,
the slow streams’ song,
the rules for the dance,
too late
she remembered the cry
of the raven in the rain,
goddess, woman, bird,
the night of a wild bird flying
through the rain-filled sky,
cold moon flickering, fading smile,
the wound and the cure of words,
alas, the moon is no drinker of wine,
a deep cup, this cauldron of mine,
heart’s ecstacy and tears,
a bitter draught she drinks alone,
the Void is a wide silence
without imagination,
She leaves the lovely words unsaid
having already whispered them,
death has touched her and passed on,
night comes black over Áine’s Hill,
this well is deep, the tales are ill,
but words last longer than riches or gold,
the sun goes down,
the night grows cold.