December 12, 2015
the great Mother was in the reeds...
the great Mother was in the reeds
She fished by looking
broken pottery savior prophet and wheel womb to seal,
steal and reveal those things when pressed and pushed
towards indignation...I will choose to be savoring, in the
music of all our little salvation(s)...witnessing the armies
of butterflies, we humans can command, demanding
that every other week be Spring...
tell me what She wanted from you, I'll let you hit me
first...test my resolve to survive these bones...the koans
came in, beached with the whales...my soul knew the
sea, spoke in a language of rain and rivers...mouths,
every hunger, in the dark, was an open,
wanting...windows were dressed finely...tattered
thoughts though thoroughly lingered...