Conjured.
The wilted flower's a disguise.
Vibrant buds emerged,
casting their tender new bodies into the wind.
Her delicate frame reaching to the stars.
Lift me there.
Us.
I collect them softly,
I glitter them on streets and in hair,
on eyelashes and in wombs.
I create.
Because I know how.
This magic has passed inside of me for lifetimes.
You're lucky to feel the grasp.
To breathe it in.
The wafting scent of lilies in the Spring.
You'll have to wait for such a thing.
It comes like the soft quiet keys on the piano before we move into a full song.
Carried on whiskers of silhouetted cats,
That follow through night and wear many hats.
Shape shift to doves, that bathe in the dust.
The magic is inside, cast out if it must.
It travels in winds and the exhaling of our lovers.
It passes from our fingertips, to our lips.
We devour, we fever, then Cleanse.
Shining on stained glass.
A spectrum and our heart beats.
A soft rhythm, that builds like a drum before we follow into battle.
Laying in fields and what have we done?
Planted flowers,
Scattering stars like the seeds.
Digging my hands into dirt.
I am of the earth, where I bask in the moon.
I water this life, I bring the monsoon.
I call to the birds, that fly as they may.
I am She, the Sun who provides you each day.

-S.M.
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