Our original seed or spark is woven into vow.
I am capturing bits of sun in my cup.
I am drinking its daylight.
Its warm honey nectar streaming
Its golden amber warming my throat, oozing,
Its thick golden liquid
Seeps
Into the intricate hollow chambers of the heart.
Like pulse and seed,
An image indwells, moving
Shifting, changing, fluid. Evokes
Vital power, like blood coursing through the veins.
This native seed. Black
Moist, a slithery star: opening
Within the interior eye, whose ancient roots thread beginnings.
This seed, it swells,
Lays heavy, in the deep of the belly.
I imagine, as I am imagined. Its
Roots, rooting down. Its
Stem pushing upward, like
An undulating serpent. Then, out
Through my mouth a crimson flower comes.
Its tension tearing,
It flames, then blossoms
I am with beautiful fire filled.