Marigolds turn to the sun.
Marigold's fair, dogbane is rare,
Moonfern casts away care,
Marigolds turn to the sun.
Green are the fields of Taraval
Where whispering saints did pray;
Now fools grow strong and leap to the songs
Which the excellent pipers play.
Love is a demon at work in my brain,
Junk is a lover at work in my veins;
Good needles wise, brave blood shall rise
From a pentacle spell of pains.
When the Lord of Planets awakens
And laughing strides forth from his cave,
The enemies of magic will falter
And moon children dance on their graves
His eyes will burn like amber,
But peace resides in his hand;
The bearded thorn and all wraiths of morning
Are company to his plan.
A falcon calls in the wilderness,
Its voice is stronger than sound;
A properous wind through the universe
Bends the horn of the Star Ram down.
For the Boy of Love is a huntsman
Who follows a crippled dove;
At the cusp of the moon he establishes soon
A rising season of love.
Through the hallowed starfields of evening
The gentle Archer goes—
Past planets fair and the rising Bear,
The Dog, the Ram, and the Rose.
—October 1968, for Robert Rivera, on LSD
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