One dressed her in black, the other in white,
The one before was so blind he didn’t bring her a raiment at
all.
When she was alone, she dressed herself in red
And swirled until the moon gave herself to the sun.
It made no matter that her wings ripped from her bones
As she hurtled through time and space,
For even among the silicon chips and Freudian slips
They started to re-grow, always busy with the lavender lift.
The hawk screech and robin trees wouldn’t leave her alone,
Eagle talons close-in ~ look ~ the wolf she feeds is full of
light,
The sparrow brings her news and she listens on the edge of
delight.
I can make it spin with the flick of wrist, undulation of
hip –
Bird song, flutter flying heart –
“Lean in honey . . . haven’t you heard?”
It is the year of the Amazon, the vines of forgetting, the
roots of
Remembering, “there
is much history between you and me,
History in the future, history in the past.”
I have been busy dreaming of rainbows, leather roads,
leading
To the mountain home.
Mauna Kea whispering in the breeze.
The trees billow with feathers, robins lifting the solstice
light.
We are sleeping until the equinox but already the boys sound
Their bells, we are deep in the medicine and it is hard to
hear them.
His hat is deep and full of stories, satin spinning and he
sends me ~
Black lace re-birthing, leap with me, we are in need of the
bleeding heart
Memory, she wears her scarlet robe and will sigh no longer.
The apocalypse ate up many things - but within the brick rubble -
Light
In between my broken bones and torn skin –
Light
Penetrating the pulled apart promises and death wish waste –
Light
He may have the flint stone, but I am the one who knows
about fire.
I do not need a happily-ever-after ending, I am painting my
own ending,
The stream knows where it is leading.
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