fireweed

i

am of

the

earth.

born into

the dying.

the transition’s processionists,

poets of the requiem;

shadow tempests;

a gestational pulse

of holy longing.

lovers of the disturbed

ash and roots

death is but the condition of our belonging.

as we walk,

An alchemy:

Of hurt and salve;

truth and beauty

bloom

combining

They sing to the bones

a homecoming

a correspondence

a divining:

dios de micelio

create life out of destruction

asi que con bisabuelos, con antepasados

juntos curamos la herida:

we raise the fireweed.

             and so, we reach now through the wound:

the fibers

the sinew

the mote

gather,

convening.

Death is a return to the womb;

A verisimilitude.

is this a Dreaming?