There is no beginning.
Let a dark and
unknown Goddess
be your breath.
Then you won't need any law
but wonder.
Just for a little
while
sorrow and joy
will drink from the same bowl,
the one you've been holding
in your rib cage
and polishing too carefully.
What true chalice
doesn't
get chipped and tip over?
Spill it now.
Mother Raven in her fire-flecked feathers
brings you no sun in her beak
to dip in heart wine
but a black hole whirling inward,
the circular splendor
of all that is hollow,
portal to the
uncreated.
There is no end.
Image by Cororo on DeviantArt
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