Name

She returns to you through her secret name.
The lofty science of names
is the Mother's wisdom, healing the earth.
They don't teach this in schools.
You learn it from your intuition,
what you know without knowing
how you know, through a smokeless
blue flame in your chest,
ignited by her breath.
Her exhalation is your inhalation,
the kiss that creates.
Now you must change the name
of your wound to 'River of Roses,'
the name of your sorrow to 'Fragrance
of Her Fallen Hair, No Longer Gold.'
Name your sleepless midnight tears,
'The Undulation of her Hips
in a Sea of Moonlight.'
Name your darkest longing, 'Bare Feet
Crushing Pale Violets in Wet Moss.'
Name whatever season it is, 'Enough.'
Be more careful of silence.
In the crystal space between their shadows,
let creatures arise from their given names.
To truly listen is to name.
She will return by virtue of your listening.

Wondrous photo by Kristy Thompson