where breath meets and light explodes inside. Sentences become questions and the quest inexorably changes. We are changed by this loving. We are known by our seeing.
Loosing history sand falling through healing fingers enabling the dexterity necessary to weave a blanket from our unthreaded tapestries. We cast a new clay vessel from the shards of every heartbreak from childhood hence. Pull down each post from the fence around our garden hearts, to become firewood that burns with our love, to fire the pots that will hold our future food.
This love is not for the feint, though sometimes the fey. Not for any part that clings to our illusions of separation, or clutches the familiar wretchedness our wounds would bind us in. We are learning that the only bounds around us are the ones we've built. And this bond of love a tight rope over the jagged sharpness of our jadedness. We let go we hold on we breathe into our weakness to remember we are strong. We practice togetherness through each tremulous unearthing of what is sacred inside us.
This sapling, This tree of love we are growing, watered by tears, prayers, orgasms, and gratitude, enlivened by our pulling the weeds and rocks from the soil.
Spirit touches this body through his hands, through his lips caressing my brow.
I am a little girl lost in the woods, and he plants a sign post. I am a homeless priestess and he shelters me, while offering that we rebuild the temple through our living. I am simply and fully, finally, a woman praying for freedom, and he smiles and says, "come on, let's learn to be humans, being."