published recently by Blank Rune Press.
When, over the course of an ordinary
circumstance, say an afternoon,
the suffering of an epiphany intrudes,
it comes on the instant, darkly indigo,
as if surfacing
from the arcane heart and stones
of a river, a great one, a Thames, Nile, Amazon
...like a river’s perpetual loosening of itself
from its source;
with no holds barred, side swiping its banks,
merciless, not waiting for a change in the weather
to be gone, gone on. So, like this,
amazement strikes, emanates
from whatever it is we take knowledge from;
leaping as briskly as yesterday from the universal moat
into the castle, fortress of personal mind.
We barely perceive it. In trying to define the thing
we lose its essence.
So we forget.
Now, as we approach the falling away of our tribe
visions may delay long enough for taming,
may divulge the heart of the matter,
telling some of us who we are, how to be.
Many say the tribulation comes
Rest then by a momentous river,
persist quietly. The epiphanous sword
may emerge from the waters, spinning, rising.
She may fall on you, wounding dumb clay,
letting old blood and the holy words spill out.
Watch, be more vigilant
than you have yet been
throughout your uncounted lives.
not being there
when it happens.