Worship

I have rented an office
Over a stationary store,
Near the railroad tracks.
The walls are the blush and blue
Of early dawn;
The floor is a polished honey lozenge.
Through the window, plain sky.
A deep plum robe hangs on a peg by the door.
I shake off my shoes in respect
When I enter,
Slip on the royal wrap and
Sit at my mac, reverent.
I bow my head
Before the musical chord
Indicating startup.
Spirit willing, sacred text follows.

Muse

When I start to succumb
To the seduction of being clever,
I drag myself back to the fire
Where the robed crone sits
Warming her hands while
The hot wind blows wave and roar
Through her tangled hair
And open mouth. Vision
And flame punctuate
The black, black plain.