Crowned

We strode among the mountaintops

laughed at its hearty depths

full of dangerous beauty, we dared

each other to the edge

 

A man of bold provocations

that only I could hear

“I am King of Earth and Sky,” he said,  “all this world is mine.”

 

He knew the mountain’s song

and weaved his legs between mine

he was a master of the dance,

sight and sound.

 

When his stomping feet

pierced the ground,

he threatened all with his daring

 

I slid myself beneath his toes

to stop the world from breaking.

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Still So Much I Do Not Know

The days roll on

and I wonder at their meaning

 

why are we here?

what are we all doing?

 

in this vast disconnection,

this fragmentation from ourselves…

 

I wonder about the journey home.

I wonder if I am home.

 

Did I originate in the stars?

have I seen other universes

and I just don’t remember?

 

for some reason

incarnating in this

space and time?

 

Perhaps I do not know it.

Perhaps I am home.

 

I wonder if I have created God,

or if God created me…

 

I suppose it does not matter

because I am sitting in the womb of all.

I am alive.

very much alive,

Breathing.

 

I am the breath.

matter

and spirit

combined.

 

I hear

the dancing sounds

of the rain

pitter patter

 

I see the naked trees,

the frothy cover of wintertime.

Spirit of the Trees

I see now that you

have a face and mouth

hands and many eyes

peering from the depths

connecting me with something

far within myself

 

your arms reach out

long and wide to embrace me

you hold all in your hands

 

sun and sky and earth

merge

in your gentle majesty

 

I place my hands upon your bark

my light cascades into the ground

 

I can feel your roots

and the roots of your brothers

your sisters and your kin

 

bury me

 

I hear the sounds

of your slow voices

I sense the spirit within

 

the spirit that guides me

flourishing—

 

you have stories to tell.

I will listen.

Let a Woman Learn Quietly

Her lips were tied with

tradition

 

she couldn’t loosen the cords

 

before the mirror

she tried to undo

that delicate web

 

of dreams and fears

family and commandments—

 

the ghosts of memory

snapping, weaving—

mute.