You cannot argue with May
flowering forth its fragrant invitations:
you cannot refuse primrose dawn
its fading, its blinding of stars,
cannot ignore messages from humble gods
who daily try to tell us what to do.
A bucket list, a reckoning, an else-to-do
are chores that may or may
not satisfy the demands of the gods,
but a lover’s simple invitation
must be RSVP’ed, honored, while stars
condense like dew on the dawn.
No time to waste, you say, flying dawn’s
horse like a herald and you do
not wait to wave farewell. Stars
who are shape-shifted, quixotic, may
show up without official invitations,
envelopes addressed and licked by the gods.
Beware of those teasing demi-gods
who trumpet the bling, blare of dawn;
beware the counterfeit invitations
that urge the neglect of duty, yet do
not ignore the fateful come-what-may
or the prophesy concocted by stars.
Among a zodiac of stars
where fancy gods
frolic, there may
be another dawn
that will do
in a pinch. Invitations
of danger, distress, invitations
that belie the constellations of stars
are always asking us to do
what those wise gods
do: anticipate that dawn
may not wake some future day in May. 1/2
Love, may all your invitations
have a dawn after the twisted dim of stars:
and know what gods, what we, are meant to do.
