Monday, August 22, 2011

Toward Where We Are

Our leathered face masks stick their noses deep in the mulch 
         Propagator spirits
                            softened by times when rain was the farmer.

Our yield is skill in art bowls full with harvest...

  When I am full with everything thinkable 
                                                         from that space 
           where we are everything thinkable, 
you ask of me,
  my honied pelt of the Universe.
 I offer it to you along with my headband of stars free of baptism-

We are headed where we face from
  your lips glisten with the sea in each cloud, our ritual drink

 …...and when the present leader of  water pauses.

God the Feminine  sculpts  another moment in a larger galaxy

We miss - that we were it-


Headed where she is turned from, filling  with everything thought of. 

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