pale yellow brush stroke sky
as the dark buzzards circle and descend.
your body pinned against the grass;
hail tenderness, womb seed sown of wrath,

you have opened your mouth to the rain
since you were a child, soft skin
wet hungry eyes, unbearable needs.

spread your arms wide
and draw your breath — three times by chanted evening before
the tears strain against your tongue.
fall to pieces, lose yourself quickly

and completely
these are the only
this veil draped along the cheek, a form of

come to show you
who you are, to drink of you (woman as chalice, woman as fissure)
to lace

its voice between the fear; you are not able
to remove yourself.
lie patient, lie still. taste the whiteness of the clouds, heaven washes far
away, folds your hands, dissolves the edges, painted illusion.

you, their comforting angel in times of abandonment.

you the adored, you the mistreated,
rising slow, high, inside the sog of morning.
you, feeble light of grace in the fire seething at the breast of god.
fall deeper, wake the dream,

bare again beneath your wings.

%d bloggers like this: