Gifting the Gods

With sunlight bursting through leaden canopy, I suddenly understand the power of making him look at the goddess. One need not wait to be seen; one need only be. Someone turned on the light. Someone keeps the flame. Yet there is still more to learn, Someone, do you not agree?

Ever-green, rooted in you.
The Masaai Mara's ancient sway.
A matriarch's stare into that which makes us whole.
The world around us speaks of a concentration without effort.
Who has ears to hear?

A ghost in the Adult Non-Fiction section vies for attention. We are never alone or separated. In my dream, I am assaulted and thrown in a shed. Show me a man I need not fear. Daffodils, tulips and crocus all begin.

No Gun Lake retreat this spring; no hiking soggy horse trails with the dog; no naked sunbathing on the porch. An exhaustion swarms around the absence of being whoever it is that I am. I dab essential oils between my breasts, in the soft of my neck an my inner elbows before dressing. A longing turns the oils into a gift to the gods.

Tell me the one about holding hands again.