~
She kneels
not in prayer,
but to touch the earth.
Breach the darkened breath
of loam and ancient ores.
Her hands teeming with language
as old as stars.
The earth unfurls
past its veil
of grit and disguise
partner to her confessions
a vault of sown promises
placed like gems in a setting
pleading patiently their chance
to glint back
at the raging rapture of the sun.
Her own dew gathers
in the shallow places
that beg a tongue’s exploration,
to trace a line
down her limbs
a nourishing kiss
from salted fingers.
The roots swell under her
thick with ache
slick with seeking promises.
In their spiraling grasp
through
amidst
among the hidden places
that shudder a welcome
they pulse a prophecy.
Diviner of ecstasy
astride the hidden rivers
quaking creation from mid-earth
rhythms returned in trembling abundance
begging chants of joy to celebrate the harvest.
Lend me your able hands a moment more.
Follow me;
I know where the daylight lives.
~