i stretch the very lenses of my eyes after my dying soul,
not seeing where it goes. does it flow like love through the veins
of the gods, like a fish or a bird? does it dive with a will of its own
to its well-remembered, eagerly sought out doom?
warm ache of life, i wear you like a cloak, like a skin i’ll one day slough
your skin is the ground i stand on, sky above me, and the sun
in it like a yellow flower, the moon beneath my feet, symmetrical
flowers of experiencing all in a row, leafed with brighid’s cupped hands.
have you heard a flower shout? a mountain’s solemn crying? a baby’s roar?
the molten stars of magic bleed three beams of power. o you young god,
if only this, my three-voiced song, could course like ocean currents through you,
unborn babe of mine, i’d heal your heart, my sobbing planet child, i’d heal your hands.