We collect rainwater as clouds darken
consecrating the ivy growing
on the thin fence that doesn't hide the church
snipping winter chives returning
with purple blossoms but letting wild mustard
with wet glistened leaves to flower
eventually yellow amidst lemon balm
amidst mint that might be tinctured
or brewed in summer teas to soften the days
while mourning doves and morning drizzle
encourage the cauldroning of bones to simmer
in salted water over blue flames
We witches in our quiet moments
check clocks and dead men's barometers
steady indicates no change
falling indicates threatening, the red arrow
seemingly stuck as the same sky washes clean
trees, cars, roads, and old garbage cans anew
as the sounds of life slip from hush to rushing and
no one knows except me and now you,
there is nothing to fear from beginnings
and endings except some blunders and absurdities
which have crept in; forget them as soon
as you can. This is a new day and
you shall begin it serenely and
with too high a spirit to be encumbered
with your old nonsense, this is the hopeful ingredient
added in kitchens across the land and is
not limited by life or lamentations nor
how witches begin and end the day
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