In this ancient stretch of earth our lives blink, moments, brief as the lace of snow. To have uncovered you, a jewel richly buried in shadowed soil, there growing, a watered fern, a river rock glowing soft in the ground, moonlight, soul sweet, passion-dark magic strong; your heart, an amulet, such power I can scarce believe. Elements, lapped from your mouth, life's breath, swallowed in wonder and borne out as muscle and bone. You are the strength of my hands.
We are home ground. A piece of earth rich with every mineral, with water, and air. We are the place I need to sit, with every inch of my skin. Where fibered roots reach deep, tendriled, complex, firm within a matrix of dark soil that will not shift in fear. We are a riot of woody weeds, the strong things of the ground, that do not break with strain. We are spiraled as infant ferns, tender, enchanted, flawless and rare. We lay low, perfect, wrapped from the reach of every renting blast that would rip us from our passionate embrace. There we breathe, joined, in kisses and soft muddy words.
there is a new light this morning. the earth has begun to tilt slowly toward the sun. the hawks have returned from the argentina grasslands. they perch hungry and dark on fence posts. this is the first in many years i have not found a nest of owls. nor had their secret lives unfold before my eyes. in their stead i have found a nest of my own with a man so beloved that even today i cannot believe he has come to me. with eyes so beautiful and dark that i cannot breathe and a form so fine my heart soars on wide wings of its own. each moment we strive for grace in the dance as this equinox moves seconds nearer.
