for my circle

There were ten today.
Ten who came and sat their roots
bloody and dusty from a fresh pull from their Beings

and they wrote
what is
what was
what shall always be.

In the circle, they placed their roots at the center
some not knowing the magic within
the healing that could take place once consumed
but everyone
There was enough

In incantations, low voiced 
cackles bright like lightning flashes 
they spoke
shaking the earth to its own rock molten soul

She said the Sun is Black
While another told of our sacred bodies being filled to the brim with unspeakable art
they howled like a slow burning ache
a remembrance offering
ancestral in nature

Taking needles, they wove promises of their future work 
into the quilt of sky
hanging high beneath them

they made oaths to themselves that they would be first
no longer last
or not at all

After the circle was complete,
their sacred smiles creeping at mouth corners,
they walked away

never from each other