I can trace Your outline
through the soft hairs of my soul.
My creature
dreams under Your hands.
It remembers being a golden dragon,
a phoenix
an egg of flame
in Your womb.
My creature is a harvest mouse
that has nibbled the sun.
You keep it safely
in the fields
of Your desire and compassion.
You tend to its questing whiskers.
Its stiff pink paws
until it recalls itself back
to the Goddess.
