In this dreamtime
which we have
no words, calling, manifesto for,
invocation is a kinetic shift – metamorphosis
from human to leaping deer, escaping bird, flowering tree,
but this time moved perhaps by something other
than visions of conquest:
leaping, flying, flowering, not as resigned pursuit of red-clawed desire,
but something denser, greener, more accommodating
of other than human, of even
the rot, and poison and things long await
in serpentcoil and fire.
This spectral mage leaping —
across playful voids —
inviting me to shapeshift along with,
dark presence that our immediate ancestors
could not conceive of, the endless bodhi
possibilities of air/mineral/water/sunlight/sap,
shaman
of my grandmother's dreaming and passing,
incarnated anew as the kaleidoscopic tesseract of worlds beneath worlds,
turning
on the cosmic spit,
knotting
itself in this glimmering vein of hard planetrock,
rushing
the sap in my blood as I run,
through
an infinity of trees.
[20 March 2022]
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👌🥹🥲
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