sometimes when i'm asleep i hear whispers.

ghosts of all the men i let decimate my sanctuary

thinking they came to worship.

the men who came with flowers,

fragrances and exquisite offerings

who left with my sobriety.

many pieces of me are

somewhere in the world

being given as bounty to other women

expecting to be loved as i did.

Between sky and land
I am the emptiness
endless space
absorbing, reflecting
sunshine, wind, rain and hail,
sea, desert and volcano ;
accepting with serenity
all that is YOU
in the lightness of our being.

Will it always be like this until I am dead,
Every spring must I bear it all again
With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs,
And the first sweet-smelling rain?

Oh I am like a rock in the rising river
Where the flooded water breaks with a low call —
Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters
And cannot answer at all.

I can paint my story
all colors, shapes, and hues
with sunny yellows, bleeding reds,
and most royal of the blues
These shades won't need explanation
each one speaking on it's own
Just watch my story unfold
and see how much I've grown.

a page allowed pencil
to draft a
picture…