In the spindrift of stars,
she’s felled, stayed by strands
silvered in the night
she circles in cycles of moon phases,
phrases repeat in her mind, bridging seen
and unseen worlds,
the doors that might open—if—
in the tides of sea and blood—there is life
in her womb, in the earth,
the repeating petalled patterns,
the roundness of berry and belly,
the strength of limbs, rooted
to the earth, while reaching for the sky,
she howls as it fills her. God, human,
something in-between? This is the truth—
she is what she is, and what she has always been.
She circles in cycles. Repeats.
Ever and always. She waits.
For Paul Brooke’s Ekphrastic Challenge, Day 16. I was inspired by all three works. You can read all the poems here.