Take my seed, fertilized as it may be, that would not burst forth.
Cultivate my tiny rose in these rich soils of my despair.
Plant it as the hope-bird, nurture and sustain as it grows.
May our flower blossom millionfold,
May you rend its blooms and petals to the wind,
as our jubliee offers this crown,
and hope fills your heart as you sing with the wind.
As by loom, I do take to weave, “Golden straw? Starlit sheen.”
Sleeping with the Earth rested my body in ways I didn’t think were opened to me. Heaven’s dew in the risen morning light coalesces into my body’s sweat, drops slipping down my skin as the dawn’s wind passes through and over me. This day will be heated. I hear my companions below, urging me to go. […]
Emblem of praise, you who hold the mysterious jars. Emblem of blame, your power as eternity’s flaw.