From bones grow thorns

And stems of might pierce tender skin

Fingers pricked so often by the holly

Now branches shelter my tangled heart

Movement seems futile

For where shall I go?

Remembering there is life in still

And below me

Where rivers of blood run through root valleys

Flooding holy lands

Are reached by prayer alone

Unbeknown to me

As I believed my own silence

But circling disbelief is the frailty of breath

Naked yearnings born from womb

And resting upon the riverbank

Where I dreamt my own reflection

Are shards of dust

Stones, once grazing palms

Thrown to disperse clouds in water

Rippling through being

To her I return

As glossy leaves embalm my spine

Shooting up to catch the sun

I am bare

Harvesting berries before they fall

I am the strength of her

And the death of her too