All My Relations

In the quiet space alone, I fall

into my representation of you,

my love, but outside

I can’t even get along with geese,

noisy with prodigious poop,

aiming to nest exactly

where I walk barefoot.

I’m blind, hands outstretched

questing for what I know

as concept, tripping over

the object of my desire

in my delirious cling

to a separate identity.

I seek to integrate Divine

Masculine and Divine Feminine,

nonplussed when my grandson approaches

my oaken altar, touches the male figure

with his long braid,

“Is this you, Bibi?”  I splutter

my denial while he laughs,

“This is YOU, Bibi.”  I ask

and I’m given

confused and disoriented

until I can sit

the tracery of my lineage

emerging with every drop

of respect I yield.

My love, you are inside me

exquisite joining,

my bones throb in a way

no forensic pathologist anticipates,

sawing through the shell

in search of stardust’s drumbeat.

I wipe the wood

with care, aware

my ancestors have come calling

a fine layer

a vast assemblage

to answer

my deepest prayers.

Inspired by Assemblage, Delirious, Tracery and Identity.