I had been sleeping withA distant bearded man Who seemed to hate meFor being human.
I had never known that there wasAnything else otherThan my own sin.
“God was once a woman, Did you know that?”
My grandmother said as shePlucked a yellow dandelion From it’s roots in the earth.
“Then there were many Gods. AlwaysSomeone to pray to for something.”
“In ancient languages VirginMeant One Unto Herself”
But my body no longer bleeds. I spend life with kneesBent onto cold concrete, While my ancestors
Sang with the moon,Made love with the earth.
I speak to my grandmotherThrough the relics called flowersBut her ashes lay coldIn a church.
Love sprung unknown. Birth me,Love.
The gentle sinBlushing rough devotionHoly kiss, Holy LipsO, then, do not move- Move not.Pray.
Night, rich beauty,
Soft light, the envious moon,Pale with grief,Fair but sick.My love speaks yet says nothing.Stars do entreat her eyes.
Fiery night. Love-performing night. Unseen rites.Come, maidenhoods Hood my bloodWith thy strange love. Come nightCome nightCome nightGive me my stars.Make Heaven in Love with night.
Glass is a slow moving liquid It drippedThrough my body.Biting and Hot.
When the windshield shielded no longer,There was no seatbelt hugging my lap, screaming into my pelvis, “I won’t let you go head first.”
Glass is a slow moving liquid,I was not. I broke through the pane.
The air rushes in and takes from my lungs unspoken words. Opening my mouth, needed to scream-
Only dead silence.
In that moment,My mind slowed down to glass time.Motion became almost unbearably sedate.I am unable to change directions but I can see which direction I would like to go: Back.
This is the closest I’ve felt to flying.This is theclosest I’ve come to finding the un-seen world called Death.This is not the end.
Glass only lasts so long in one formation.When left unattended,Stained glass windows will move on their own.In abandoned places of worship, in forgotten homes, in antique shops, Glass becomes warped and curved in places it wasn’t before.
Still the tides change We restore glassOr our bodiesStill, liquid moves
In directions we cannot control.
Mad at my bones for being so soft. So much like glass. I stain myself and change.
You are whispers of wildflowersUntouched by light,Growing by your own conviction.
When the garden has wilted,And the trees plungeDeeper into the ground,
Effulgently, you glisten.As if the world itself has turned Inside out.
I fall in love with death.
Forgetting everythingBut the wind,Your breath.
There is no landBut the fields of your skin.
Time, seasons, no longer exist.
Our lamps are moonsOur rugs are in bloomOur bed, soft clay for growing
Outside our front door,Are damp and quiet winters.But here, our other-world is
Overflowing in sun. Elysium is jealous.
Nourished by the earth of our hands.Fields of wheat fill our kitchen,We harvest for each other’s lips.