Amber drips from her ears and wrists like honey
I hear the sound of brass bells
She dances me up into a fog of purple smoke
I see a hall of mirrors and as I pass by each mirror
I see not my face but the face of all my loves
I find myself beside a dying river
“From my mouth to yours”
I say it out loud as I drip honey into the water
lick my own sweet fingers
I hear wind through the cane
It sounds like laughter
The river accepts the honey dripping from my flesh
and is gone
I am on a desert mountain rough and dry
I find a pot of sweet water and know that today I will not die
With a needle I stitch together the fabric of my life
and yours
I look into the mirror and I see your face
Published in Matrix, June 1999
Thank you, Marya.
Thrilling!!
Thank you, Sisters.