Little Flower
Open for me, supple bloom
and I will enter into you
as to enter into a
cathedral.
A spirit which
I cannot name and
care not to name, a scent,
draws me as a pilgrim to your altar.
I come to sing out praise in
this tongue of tongues
unspoken, in this
sanctuary
of deep woods
where we create and recreate
ourselves in the divine imagination.
If in the beginning was the word,
well then, I want to take you
back and forth before
the word.
Before even
the beginning, when
the pistil and the stamen
knew to do what desire knew,
without the literate need to name.
When the senses weren’t yet separate
from our body, not yet torn
from soul.
We beings, whole,
now called to worship,
joined sublimely and entirely,
with each thrust, god
in us, the nectar
flows.
