Priest of the Moon

If the spell works, it’s facts.
If the spell fails, it’s faith.
If you kill the spell’s source,

Say, in the name of faith,
But the facts eat your faith,
Then that’s out of the game.

Death is out of the game.
Truth is part of the game,
Field and fence of the game.

A rock wren in the grass
That died when it hit glass
Leaves the game to feed ants.

Suss

Let’s guess you work at a desk,
Have worked at desks, on and off,
Most of your life, more or less.

Not a bad bet. We can guess
There are times when your back aches,
Your eyes feel strained, your head hurts.

Yes? So, what do you do then?
You lift up your eyes and stretch.
You take your mind off your desk,

Strange beast lost in thoughts and texts.
You might take note of the world
That is not to do with desks.

That’s all we ask. Just like that.
Shift your thoughts from your own flesh,
From the up-close aches and sins

Of a beast, and look at life
Or, best, at what is and is
Not life. Pause. Stretch. Breathe deep. Ask,

Could it be these words have things
To speak they don’t speak for us,
They mean they don’t mean for us?