An urgent flurry. Words like a flower crown sit lightly.
Or encircle and susurrate,
make a fevered clutch in the heart,
a rush of fire over the skin.
I have this. I am this.
A fall into interior depths,
loveless arterial passage,
where sustenance is absent.
Hedge maze of unanswered questions
leading to where it began.
At the fissure I rest.
Place of reckoning and renewal
covered with powders, sands and unshed tears.
Sweep away the top layer and touch the split.
It remains there, anointed by sun, rain and shadow of cloud.
I sit with it and know love,
its form and texture opened to me,
through me, in me.