Monday, August 22, 2011
Toward Where We Are
Our leathered face masks stick their noses deep in the mulch
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.