she repeats their songs silently to herself
her daughters are never alone
moments are grown in tiny islands
robes of feathers and fire sweaters
woven on the loom of time
i am behind though the front is fine with me
your child is flesh yet a luminous blessing
through which god comes inside you
and throws your life for a ride
your dungeons need sweeping
so clean out your chimneys
and make space for the goddess
in each of your ceremonies
no longer asleep at the wheel
i heal through work and labor
upon the earth and on paper
in the garden our friends wept
for their frightened selectivity
we can no longer exclude
the rude parts of our self