Poetry About Conjure

She sets a bowl beneath the youngest moon. Rosemary and salt darken in the water. One whispered name wakes dust along the shelf. The candle bends though every window is closed. Nothing appears that can be held or proven. Still, the room remembers how to listen.

Look again from the quieter edge. Rosemary and salt darken in the water. What seemed simple opens into history. The candle bends though every window is closed. Attention loosens the first easy answer. Still, the room remembers how to listen.

She sets a bowl beneath the youngest moon. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. One whispered name wakes dust along the shelf. It returns us to invocation, imagination, memory, ritual, language, and making the unseen briefly present. Nothing appears that can be held or proven. The day continues with a more attentive heart.