the witching hour is upon us

In celebration of all good things that may come to pass on tomorrow's day of potential fantastics, I thought I would offer a few words. But in sitting down to set down a turn of phrase, I decided instead to allow another's turned phrase to speak for me. It proceeds in two iterations, first from Rae Armantrout, and then from Philip Larkin (my favorite poet).

Prayers
by Rae Armantrout

1.

We pray
and the resurrection happens.

Here are the young
again,

sniping and giggling,
tingly
as ringing phones.

2.

All we ask
is that our thinking
sustain momentum,
identify targets.

The pressure
in my lower back
rising to be recognized
as pain.

The blue triangles
on the rug
repeating.

Coming up,
a discussion
on the uses
of torture.

The fear
that all this
will end.

The fear
that it won’t.

*****

High Windows
by Philip Larkin

When I see a couple of kids
And guess he's fucking her and she's
Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,
I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--
Bonds and gestures pushed to one side
Like an outdated combine harvester,
And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if
Anyone looked at me, forty years back,
And thought, That'll be the life;
No God any more, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide
What you think of the priest. He
And his lot will all go down the long slide
Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

*****

Hopefully these words move something in you,
as that they certainly stir something in me.