Living Morganism

It began with a promise to honor the deeper calling from my core A blood sacrifice and an inking into my skin that commitment I moved into ceremony, I called witnesses around me, I called women to hold me. A strength and new knowing began to become me, I had such hopes And then heartbreak tore the seasons to pieces. No Spring or Summer but eclipses and a celibacy like an insult to my loud fertility The seasons all dark, all cold and all turned inward A long winter, untouched An initiation not into motherhood as I hoped, but into shadow and grief and loss I bent into work, months passed, and work bent my back, so much forgotten. I wish to bow deeply in gratitude to the dreamer To offer prayers and tears of such sweet sorrow for the silent, unseen weaving of dreams     into truths deeper than comprehension and consciousness. Ebbing and flowing directly from Mysterious Source Nurturing like a mother, ravaging like a beast. Underneath this shroud, enshrined, dreams resurr

Heartbreak is like a world made miniature every tender trying detail significant to its structure and all the open space of the world outside, an affront to the pride that lives in the pain. This heart is haunted by sharp fragments of memories and images: The white raspberries that grew by your house I would taste on summer nights that I walked to you. Pieces of your home decorated by my love but enjoyed by strangers eyes now. The unlit windows down the street. An afternoon by the river. A dog you now live with that I don't know. Whispered sensuality on the only flight we took together. My body cold now where your touch once warmed it. Heartbreak is like the closeness of a dream wrapped in love, like the dream, all is tangible with no thought of waking or what comes after until the rude interruptions of jobs and alarm clocks hurdle you into a realm of fog and desperate grasping for what was. Your life is growing unfamiliar to me. But like the vivid remaining fragmen