In February, while in a month-long songwriting workshop at Esalen, I wrote a rock opera with two fellow students and I starred as the antagonist, Lucinda the Moon Witch. It was right around the time of the full moon lunar eclipse. Lucinda, who is barren, steals a baby-star from Sapphire the star-maker and hides it in her darkside. Comet the Snitch gives Lucinda away and a feud arises. I was on fire. Lightning bolts were shooting through me. My poor friends had to put up with me casting spells into songs and demanding synonyms and syllables to fit the rhythms I was conjuring. I had never written a spell before. So this past May at Esalen, I started writing morning mind-spills or mind-spells. They tumbled out of me to the rhythm of the sea, their rhymes finding and binding me, as a good spell will.

Valley of My Divine

In the dindin of Domstrom
I listen
in the here
wave wash
sea scrape
whoosh against my ear,
hug my heart
loosen my fear.

This territory of me
is a boundary.

Play my fae
but not my feral
she lies in heat
inside my barrel,
not fallow
not dry
but to my surprise
she rises like spring
in my hand she brings
a song of summer
a song of She.

Thunder and rain
in my birdsong brain
my tension eases
as I release your teases,
too tender am I
for the maneuvers of thy,
so friend, not love
I apologize,
your animal does not enchant me.

The current between us
yes, is grace
and in moments of candor
your eyes, your face,
but not the hunt
and not the prey
and not to be pinned
by my wings to your tray.

This fae craves air and sea and song
it’s what I need to belong:
to me,
to thee,
to the entirety.

Ocher and crimson
magenta and peach
the sky is my bounty
within my reach.
The fruit I fathom
the fruit I seek
is the deep now here,
the blossom of each.

New seed-dream I plant
in soil of soul
from compost of past
years of obsession
years of fast.

No hunger
no currency
no trespassing sign,
the road to my heartland
runs through the valley of my divine.

By foot, by wing,
by fin, by dream
my love, do meet me
in the here