gifts

in the early morning soft,
she brought me a gift.
it was wrapped in gauze--
a bandage filled
with sweet moss.
she placed it on my forehead as I slept
and sprinkled it with buds
of dried lavender, dusty,
ancient, alive. they fell
like vivid tears
beneath the bones of my eyes.

in the early morning grey
and rainswept,
he brought me a name.
he breathed it into my ear
as i turned twisted
in fleece , tangled in wool.
his breath was the froth
leaping forth from a sea
that covered this earth
before the stories began.

and then, my dreams
enclosed me in a fiery fever.
my heart was a horse
trapped in that fire,
its panicked hooves
drumming out the pain
of their fear inside me.
the softness fled.
the grey rain was replaced

by the blonde dawn,
and i rose forgetful, a vine
twining to the light. his name
lay on my tongue like a pearl
upon an oyster, salty-slick
and bright. her bandage of moss
fell into my hands
like seed strewn by finches
eager for lunch.

i looked to the east.
i spoke to the light: i am nourished, i said,
and i am named. will i still get lost?

a wasp on the windowsill
took my words and carried them upon her twinkling wings
back to her nest of mud
hidden beneath the roof beams, and there
she laid them to rest.

that was when my heart replied:
there is no more getting lost. because
i am pierced
directly
through my garnet-dark center,
by an arrow green feathered,
black shafted, and swift. i am pierced. and so,
i am found. i am named.
and in any wilderness,
i am nourished.