Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
In Which the God of Witches Walks Off Into the Sky
I saw the God of Witches
walk off into the Sky,
or maybe he sank down
into Earth. This, I tell you,
was no mere vision, but
an actual seeing of eyes:
we stood at the base of the hill
and watched. Meadowlarks
sang as he strode.
When he reached the horizon,
a great mandorla of white flame
blazed up around him.
He sank down into Earth:
calves, thighs, rippling ass;
torso, head, antlers.
Or maybe he just
walked off into the Sky.
Or maybe it was both together,
contracted to a singularity:
ascent-descent, simultaneous,
clothed in a halo of flame.
Photo:
Paul B. Rucker, "God with Contrail"
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