Mad Honey

If the gods think it is worth it 

they will cast the chessboard 

down from the table

spilling the pieces

across the soft brown

fabric of the wood

and destroying our

best plans.

The mercy that they offer

is only given up 

to our souls to drink

like the sweet sap of the maple,

like the trove of the bees

making honey from 

the Rhododendron flowers

that drives us mad and kills -

the cup they offer 

is poison to the living.

If you have come

looking for the gods

we arrive at the sea’s edge 

bearing them

like a ship loaded with spices 

and a menagerie of wonder

sailing into the harbor.

Saints walk in the dappled groves

and on the streets of the city 

carrying the gods on their shoulders

to bring divinity into the dark spaces 

where they are needed

and to open doors for the dying 

they bear miracles 

like amphorae 

of wine or water.