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Apr 2015
I emerge at the calm before the storm
where they can't reach me by the quake
anymore.
Before the plunge I am unwithered and unworn
calling Mother at the folds where it was torn.

Cast as foetus and bag of stone
I am pulled down into a blend of effulgence
and the lungs linger in my mouth
before settling for breath between the bones;
marked by nascence and polished.

Held in an agitation of hands I am lifted
onto the summit of all things,
and she cries at the final separation
of our veins,
of our beings.
Swells
Written by
Swells  29/F/Utah
(29/F/Utah)   
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