for the angel that held me and showed me the lines on the palm of my hands in a dream as he whispered a secret language
There is a poem that holds me
lacing through knowing branches
and a web of leaves
that strings my body
on the space around me
and beneath the flower bed.
Strum the ghazal of your wings.
in a dance in all directions.
Stretch me under the river
and grow me the heart of a seed.
Bloom this young woman’s yearning
in the evenings of my past.
with that secret voice unveiling
what threads the invisible weave
that binds me to you.
Hold me now.
and the earth’s circle
becomes an embrace.