I'm telling you this
but you’re only half

listening, half dreaming.

The inhalation rises
from your belly to your crown,
gently exploding in the blue sky
of bewilderment.

Your exhalation falls, poured back

into the sweet black pit
of yearning.

Your breath is the Goddess.

I'm telling you this again,
but you’re only half

listening, half dreaming.
Her body is soft as cotton-down
spun out of diamonds
that dangle from holes in the night.


Her soul is your spine,
keen as a blade of lightning.
She pierces your chest,
rhythmic as the moon,
so that you move beyond

death, into love.

Don’t try to comprehend her.
Sophia-wisdom cannot be known,

only tricked by a gift

of perfume into murmuring.

Only tasted and touched like a pillow

filled with maddened bees.
Now lay your head upon her breast.
Get stung with the venom of emptiness.

She is the wine inside breathing,
the warrior’s sword that passes

through every heart with a single

stroke, beheading the believer.
Her breasts express ecstatic milk

for those of us

who were never born.

Photo: I took this on a moon walk.

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