Tuesday, August 29, 2006

she is inside every bud

Inside of every bud
there is a momentary God.

There are arrangements
of mud and rain called being
(light always comes
from a deep womb of pain).

Inside of every latch
there is a splintered threshold
a shrapnel of ecstasy
we may later call: Love.

The Goddess
molds you
into a cup for the sky
knowing you will shatter
from the pressure
of all that nothingness.

Even your torn remains-

your smithereens of passion
can still be a vision
of imminent birth.