Novus Annus, Eaedem Curae

Earth, my foundation, my path firm as a thought unsaid;
Water, river of whispers, flow beyond thy own banks,
Carry the abundance that forgets to arrive,
Spilling yet never empty, a paradox of plenty.
Fire, spark and sigh of ambition’s quiet tyranny,
Do not consume me too soon, nor leave me cold;
Air, whisper your wisdom – your fickle, feathered favor,
To tickle my mind awake while the stars nap.

Jupiter, large-hearted lord of the increase, extend your long, long hand,
Bury in my lap a wealth that cannot be counted,
Venus, clandestine giver of love and luminous pity,
Toss the ripe fruit of passion onto this sullen clay;
Mercury, you mercurial messenger, swift with pranks and profits,
Deliver the joys of gain folded in riddles,
Saturn, black-haired sentinel of restraint,
Smite my foolish losses, or dress them in irony.

By the tincture of gold, of sun-kissed aurum,
And by the rare quintessence, which is neither here nor fully there,
I weave words like threads of moonlight through a net of shadow.
As above, so below, as within, so without,
A palindrome of universe – prosperity curls inward,
While doubt evaporates, leaving only the smell of rare herbs
And the faint tang of destiny.

With salt, I purify, and with salt, I renew;
I rub the corners of the cosmos as one might an old violin,
By the powers of the One, ineffable and unpronounceable,
I breathe into many, and call it multiplicity.
This year will be fruitful, this year will shine –
Or, perhaps, merely reflect the glint of stars
In puddles of our own making.

I call upon the moons of Mars and the laughter of Venus,
Upon the silence of Neptune and the cunning of Mercury,
To dance upon the tangled braid of my intention;
A choreography of chance, a masquerade of inevitables.
O ironies of the firmament, speak in tongues,
Twist meaning like a vine around the pillar of my desire,
Spell me forward into the orchard of the improbable.

By the alchemist’s art, by the philosopher’s sigh,
By the sacred light of the stars that dream of themselves,
By the secret syllables that no mouth dares utter,
By the quivering, incandescent hum of life itself,
As I will, so be it.
Let it be both a blessing and a curse,
A promise and a riddle,
A gold coin turned in the palm of infinity.