poem 32 of a poem a day for 2012 (for the Goddess)

thaw my wheel, Brigid

every chance 

I've taken

petal falls

wind to skin

the begin of 

each cycle

nautilus thins

wound desires 

calling out to

wombs again

I stretch limber climb 

vine slow at first

then to inch crawl

tendril burst

or at least

where the ripe of me 

pools your tides' birth

in the undulations

in these fingers

traced from 

every dead star

to all the wet clay

spun,waiting

wading

into what 

your hands

can form me to

into what

your hands

can press me through

into what 

my skin and 

hollowed bones

take flight with

clouds to loam

in a tilling

in a spilling

towards you

and home 

EJR (c)