The Secret Mandala

18759280-81DE-40B6-BD00-2E2F3CC91915Like a scholar
I study the hieroglyphs etched
on the mandala between your thighs
the source of your magnetic fire

If only I could translate it—
how refined the marks
how like the First Spark

Form the primordial word
on the lips of your perfect poem
and draw me into your sacred circle

And with my Rosetta Stone
I’ll decode the secret song
in the deep of your ancient art
pink with the wet wink of creation

Plant Them Beside My Artichoke Flowers

IMG_6883From the start know you are not
a goddess
to me
but an ordinary woman
with wings
Sacred and beautiful
Your blood and scaling skin
and muddy feet,
mouth full of sweet vino,
and vulgar jokes–these
prove your Power,
not perfection.

what things pull tears and smiles from your body
the way you craft your art
and own your part
is how I know your heart

In my house there is a room
for your rage
a room
for all the grief, big and small
a whole rooftop for laughter
released to the skies with the
dandelion seeds

For your desires…Oh, your desires
—an unending garden—
plant them beside my artichoke flowers
Or as a bean vine climbing up my cornstalk