I snap my hair back like a child's,
Don my costume of whatever's clean,
And get to work
Ceremonies seem redundant
When every minute is a hurried whisper
To the Goddess who exists only
Because someone has to be the object of my prayers
Candles and chalk circles turning in about points
That lead to a surging center
I diffuse my power evenly as my life
Spreads at its edges like somebody's
Spilled gasoline
Fire: never-ending sun
Air: circling the dust before the storm
Water: sweat-tinged rain pouring down
Earth: I fall and caress it
As it turns to mud despite my tearless eyes
And, like a child knocking on the door
Of the house that doesn't like children,
I turn confused and wide-eyed
To no one
For their God is not one of mine
And magic only works when you ask it to
Written October 31, 1986
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