I am here for flooding

I am here for flooding.
In the mountains of the moon
the secret source is swelling, rising.
I am here for the river to burst its banks
leap the familiar channels
and turn and pleasure the thirsty land
to climax in a shivering harvest of words.

I climb to a savage height
yearning for the song of the sacred spring
that is held mute in a prison of stone.
I call the raw, unstoppable flying horsepower
born of the blood of conquered nightmares.
“Come to us now! Pound the rock,
beat down resistance with drumming hooves,
free the fountain that makes muses
and lets the muses sing in us.”

Here, now, my gatekeeper is a flow god
with bull horns, robed in running streams
and waterfalls where fishes leap.
He swims in the underground river of my life.
He knows how to rescue goddesses
who went down to the darkest Underworld.
I tender the price of entry, the promise
I will not obstruct water when it should flow.

In another Now, I am the Hanged Man
suspended in a queasy mush of elements,
fighting with myself inside a sack,
clinging to old forms, to shades of what I was.
I am here to let the old self fall away
and to burst the stiff casing like a bag of waters
and fly on shining wings to bring fresh dreams
as butterfly kisses to a sleeping world.

-        -  Gore Mountain, April 13, 2014

      Photo: Snow and Sun at 13th Lake (c) Robert Moss