Be still And revere in solitude A bosom above That awaits us.
Soon we will engorge it With a patient eye that Traverses the mornings In blissful repose Sliding along rapacious Tongues that could never Withstand emptiness.
Suffice it for the moment That they be one and all Put to rest by the artless Smile of the naked sapling Who dances in remembrance Of naught but the warm Hand that guides her
And feeds her fig leaves In the mists of noonday. Pray to the elongated breast That coils around the tree branch Of certitude and warmth, Slithering its way to the ground Where the extra leaves have gone to wither.
Nourishment is here! Joy is here! Long live the setting of your arms Across my chest Whenever the sun forgets!
Come to my abode and Adorn it with blue stones, Remember when my wings Begin to blossom again And hearken it to the kingdom At hand.
Your lips will sing the praises of Trails that fought against being lost And your other hand; yes, that one, will keep The angels afloat, Lest their feet become heavy And their wings brittle With forgotten time.
Art: “Allegory of Fertility or of Autumn” Sandro Botticelli