This body is not
just a house of dust
but a wind-harp
for the whisper
of a stranger’s breath
seeking friendship
in your chest.
As the evening breeze
selects the pine,
as a moonbeam chooses
one trillium among ferns,
that silent caress,
so an ancient yearning
chose your mother’s spine.
How supple she was,
undulating to receive you.
When you agreed
to her darkness,
what were you wanting?
A density of light?
Isn’t it time to remember?
Let your heart be
pure listening now,
and your body
will become a song.
Photo: Harmony, Inc.
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