Words dance at the tip of my tongue even as they form in mind, echoes of earth and ground and ancient longing, spinning and tumbling through the fullness of my being I taste them and feel their echoes between my teeth, dancing grit. The hum of rock forming. And above, swirling mist, iridescent in sunlight.
moving ecology of the lyrical body
And what of the golden rings forged in fire, deep in the woods, wrapped around bundles of lavender by hands brushed gold with straw
shimmering dust paint pictures in light, shadow-bright *
what goes on underneath, in the workings into mulch, in the fallen leaves and winding roots, subconscious seeking, bright dreams. it is all rich, nutritious, beautiful. Bedrock, odd socks.