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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