There are more things between Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
—“Wild Bill” Shakespeare
- She took his burdens
- Into her body
- And disposed of them
- Like his mother always wanted to do
- But couldn’t.
.
- His sins disappeared
- In the soft grass of her skin.
- She welcomed them.
.
- Thank you, Love. Can I call you ‘Love’?
- He asked the Earth
- In the darkness of the New Moon,
- Feeling her body fall through his fingers
- As sediment.
.
- With dirty fingertips,
- He caressed her.
.
- Love is fleeting,
- In my experience.
- Can you be my love?
- Can you be my mother?
- For they are the same,
- At their root,
- In my experience—
- And you are the root of both.
.
- That which draws
- Masculine to Feminine
- Hints at something beneath,
- Something more true
- And more powerful
- Than love of the past.
.
- Something perhaps more permanent—
- Akin to dust and wind and flame (and water)—
- Forever moving and therefore
- True to its nature.
.
- She is gentle and brutal,
- Quiet and violent,
- Beautiful and harmonious.
.
- Gaia never rests, always produces.
- Creating, destroying,
- Being Herself.
.
- Meanwhile, the Cosmos
- Ever turns, “above,”
- Corkscrewing into the darkness
- Between galaxies.
.
- And I connect them,
- Earth and Heaven,
- Somehow,
- When I reach for the sky.
.
(written in 2009)
