There is a plant
whose seed shall never sprout
until it’s fruit has passed
through the belly
of Javalin

It is we who shall never bloom
until we offer our mother’s fruit
into the belly
of Javalin

Within the darkness of his bowels
something so persistent
finally cracks:
and the essence,
the essence of our true being
at last may sprout again.

I do not fear the Javelina’s jaws
nor his belly, for his bowels,
and so this fruit of my mother
I gladly crush
and offer
with my own hands.

The Moon, laid an egg
gently upon the Earth
where Her husband, the sun
like a Noble Emperor Penguin
would keep it warm
until it hatched.

The Moon, laid an egg
gently upon the Earth
that she might bear a child
that would give flight
to Her mystery.

The Moon, laid an egg
gently upon the Earth
that this child
would see the world
through two eyes like bright moons
shining in the night.

The Moon, laid an egg
gently upon the Earth
that She might raise up a woman
that would walk and talk
on Her behalf.

A child held safe in loving arms
a shell need not create,
but if its fear she knows too well
inside her shell feels safe.

The greatest danger has arrived
when she begins to think;
that this shell is she
and loses sight if thee.

When this shell she comes to know
is now her own sweet hell,
she must burn in passions fire
the shell she knows so well.

Mother Earth begins to sing
the angels all join in
There is no force can stop her now
as she begins to spin