Invocation

In the words

of Cripple Creek, in the spirit

of Hand-Feeding Deer, wash me like revival.

Knock five kicks in the face of Ra.

Sing in mustard seed. My Goodnight

Fortuna, prophesy

a joyride down

Starlight Pond with both eyes shut.

Manifest a barge where Chinese lanterns

surf ethereal on a golden trumpet. Park

baby grand, before me. My wind chime

in springtime, skip over

Fossil Creek with jugs of wine, rip

wings from gold-backed demons on sax, and flare

cinnamon with fingers possessed.

Mountains, move!

Mahalia Jackson

coming through.