Circles
circles
night of the blue moon
the second time it calls
on this gentle, indigo canvas
stars, we of the fiery hearts
we are lost daughters
the hidden ones.
air a hypnotic brew
cedar and sage
sweet grass and incense
cleanse the sacred space
?fill it with barely audible chanting
lifted upon the birch smoke
invite our grandmothers return
drum sounds echo through
borrowed bodies
heart beat of mother earth
synchronous with all hearts
each woman stares unblinking
into pirouetting flame
secret musings,
unshared wisdom
we are the unborn
come to tell the old tales
lest they be lost forever.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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