[FROM THE GRIMOIRE]: Spell for Binding a Man to a Man

Not by amulets but by words and scents and signs:
the air awake and still, blue as flag or water hyacinth.
Tone of neutrality. Color of equality. A middle space
where like things congregate, all motion all energy—

as the bond was with my Lord and his Apostle,
with whom He joined in communion at the last, “John,”
He said, “here is thy mother” and “Mother,” He said, “here
is thy son.” Come on thunder, I dare you now to seal
this. A binding made of breeze and gale. A binding made
of rain. And here I would insert both secret and unsecret
names of the winds, the various heavens and the clouds.
The way ripple shadows of a stream reveal where rocks are.
The submerged impediments the currents the refractions
and the tides. Stitch a cloth of sky. Dip it into several vats
of the same dye, leaving out one finger’s width each time
so that the value of the blue seems to grow in intensity
from one end of the bolt to the other. Take this as thy
tabernacle. Afterward the cloth shall be given to orphans sent
out by the living into the streets. Pine branches, because
they do not lose their sap, support you. Twist their redolent
needles in one another’s hair. Lilac sprigs. Spikenard oil.
Gather up and bury the sharp instruments of industry and war,
the pruning hooks the adze the awl the rapier dirk and dagger.
Put away the sword. Put away thy shield. For here is one
upon whom you might lean a lifetime. Then let these words
be spoke:

As the worker bees of a hive devote themselves to one queen.
Or a ramgoat takes another ram as his mate. I am thy faithful
and obedient bond. As David and Jonathan knew each other
in the field, so do I know you, like of my like, love of my
love, flesh of my devotion, seed of my interior. Joy with which
I am wounded, wound in which I am made whole. I have
waited too long to join you. Let us not lose another day
unfinished by the master’s hand. Upon thy letter I fix my seal.