Witch to Wicca

You snap your hair back like a child's, Don your costume of whatever's clean, And get to work Ceremonies are redundant When every minute is a hurried whisper To the Goddess who exists only Because someone has to be the object of your prayers Candles and chalk circles turning in about points That lead to a surging center You diffuse your power evenly as your life Spreads at its edges like somebody's Spilled gasoline Fire: never-ending sun Air: circling the dust before the storm Water: sweat-tinged rain pouring down Earth: you fall and caress it As it turns to mud despite your tearless eyes And, like a child knocking on the door Of the house that doesn't like children, You turn confused and wide-eyed To no one For your God is not; And magic only works when you learn that.