Wednesday, July 29, 2009

O.I. poem #3

He is a Mandala inside me somewhere
there is sage burning in my abdomen,
a small child dreaming on a branched vein
my body is a city of indigo children born in his eyes
my nerves wear feathers in their hair and dance around the campfire of passion
they are chanting for rain, for storm, for thunder blooded waterfall.
the mind wakes every morning, kneels and prays south to the heart.
the mouth gives thanks, says thank you, gives blessings, says bless you.
the eyes sacrifice light, the arms sacrifice warmth
the hands are altars, is where the fingers worship
the thighs are scripture, are law, are holy
the legs are divine language, is written.
and heaven, that strange realm is my unbuttoning, is deep in me
is where a medicine woman rattles and drums,
a Santera is there, cleaning a soul,
a high priestess preparing an offering,
a goddess making love,
heaven is where we meet,
is where we lay to rest and are reborn
inside of me.

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