In the forest
there is a woman, she lives
sleeping within a tree, curled up,
she’s dreaming, nestled
within herself, her long black thick hair flows.
Her many eyes look inward,
her many eyes look outward
from her deep inner longing:
abysmal rhythm of her night.
She dreams the centuries: falling back
through the ages, her emptiness
swallowing,
fulfilling her past: harvesting
carrying baskets of flowers into the world, reds
fushias: earths gardens, azure’s
clear skies.
The universes speaks through her, utters
sound out of silence, mutterings
unintelligible sound,
which she transforms to song. Pipes
lyre, bells accompany: she fills
the world with sweetest vibration.
She dances the sound, with the lightness
of a child, like a wave,
floating slow within deep interworlds,
an image forms in her heart, the sun
rises in her mind, like a star, it
falls out of midnight blossoming into time.