Ceremony

The sea offered a knife for ceremony
carried on the tide to my feet.

At first, I refused. 
At first, I sheathed my face and pretended spiritual palsy.

The sea spoke, insistent, saying, "The world is empty.
Your body is dark earth, a mother for every seed."

In those days, electrical storms were continuous.
The beach was strewn, as all beaches were, with fragmented glass.

"Must every edge open a new mouth
before any creature can sing?" I asked.

Wearily, I took up the knife for ceremony.
My blood became cities. I became the sea as it became me.

Find fools, we urged ourselves.
Offer ceremony.
Insist, until the sky calms, 
and if the world then writhes, 

Blame the doppelganger god who sent us in the first place.
_______

for Play It Again at Real Toads. I used grapeling's Pablo Neruda word list.