No Other Power

If you breathe through the place

where you already are,

you will slip down the stem of this body

and return to your see.

You will meet the aboriginal Grandmother

deeper within you than the sky,

and the tribe of the first people

will emerge from the loam.

Some say an ant hill, some say

a yoni between three blood-red stones. 

You will remember how to play

the drum of your diaphragm

with dancing bones of love.

How to pluck the antelope-

horned lyre of your heart

using fingers of the moon,

and scent healing sage

in the desert of your teardrop.

We've spent so many lives

becoming “you” and “me.”

Yet there is no other power

but the way we melt into 

each other, and become rain.

The way we are poured

as one sizzled offering into a fire

that heals the earth.

Image: aboriginal painter Colleen Wallace