Ouroboros

Ouroboros
virgin whore
maiden-crone enchantress
slips amorously out
of her own skin,
bears her own infant body,
suckles her death.
Raven's wing demurs
to grasp the night,

slices through emptiness

without a sound.
Mist won't cling
to the volcano,
yet somehow floats it away
like a pale blossom.
What shines beyond the play
of joy and sorrow,
darkness and fire;
what pervades the dream,
the waking,
and the deepest sleep;
what is like the space
between moonlit threads
of the spider's web,
is the Mother
whose womb has no opposite.
All paths become circles
in the Unborn.
Rest here
beyond the search
amidst the swirl
of brawling zyzygies
entangled in her ripe placenta.
She is the chaos of love
and the fullness
of perfect loss.
Use her
to breathe.

'Ouroborus,' Metal repoussé by
dear friend and artist, Liz Miller