To love another is something
like prayer and it can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
I imitate
a memory of belief
that I do not own.
You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.
Beauty is a simple passion,
but, oh my friends, in the end
you will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.
Death,
I need my little addiction to you.
need that tiny voice who,
even as I rise from the sea,
all woman, all there,
says kill me, kill me.
Earth, earth
riding your merry-go-round
toward extinction,
right to the roots
thickening the oceans like gravy,
festering in your caves,
you are becoming a latrine.