Persephone

She comes to her mother’s arms:
This time of thresholds, this mantle of new starts,
This cradle of lives, festival of births,
This verdant lifting from the dead,
This effusive, joyful time!
Cold shadows fast fade as new light invades.

In this womb we might be:
Our time of meanings, our caresses under her smile,
Our music of charms, spells of secrets,
Our dismantling of tedious time.
Our frozen fire could melt;
Merging mirth will meld when no access is withheld.

I will honour with thanks the Moon:
We could dance deftly, or be still in love,
We could nurse fingers, or bathe with eyes,
We could climb heights, or fall into bliss,
We could simply be free.
Goddess blessed, Spring graced, traced by light