Lately,
I think of you,
Or who you might have been
If your world and mine had not touched
At all.
But then,
Your world touched mine,
And was consumed by it.
Yet, from the ashes we became,
You rose,
Gently,
Like a Mother,
Nurturing in herself
All the mothers who will ever
Be borne;
Mothers
Who, from daughters,
Become the Goddesses
Whose worlds touch the worlds of such fools,
As I.

Are we really such phoenixes?

Listen to Her song;
Hear the wind-whispers in willowed valleys,
And the singing streams, coursing like blood through veins.
Come and hear Her song,
Of wave-washed rocks, and silver, wind-swept shores,
And sea birds singing between moon and sun.
Listen to Her song;
Hers is the Mother-tongue of Earth-rumbling,
And sky-flashed drums rattling down rain-rhythms.
She is singing songs
The wolf child whimpers to welcome evening,
And hawks cry to joyously greet the day.
Listen to her song
Tell tales of flowered-fields, and dark forests
Filled with Life, dancing and singing with Life,
Hear Her song of love