Hymn to Butterfly Pea
Put the flower in the milk
dried and hugged into stem
let her soak, a caring cream, a field
she hasn’t known, she could be
unwound in blue, she could be
a floating star who really feels
the waving spoon beneath her core
undulating loose in white
rolled, submerged, coming to
the foamy edge bleeding blue, blue
blood, your many stars, light
my throat, make me
yours, if I feel you
pool upon the waning pink
flesh within, I am made, emerged
as you, loose and bound and freed
again in a lake of milk and moon
I will feel to feel
your care
butterfly (woven wind)
your wing to sky, to cup, to me
turned upon a careful breath
in my heart, fluttering there
with whisper’s edge so true so true
sweeping bone, cell and juice
flick your hush through all
too sore, bowing back to paper wing
field of me steeped of you, petaled water
mirror of sky, tea poured over beaten gray
salve to grind and splitting stone
drummed in grief, in howling head
bending open
back to blue
daughter latched slap stars to breast
pulls a milk from above, please drop
down the hole of me, make me holy
fore and hind, lapis dome
as tea joins sky
between as light
pools in my eyes
my maker comes, I feel
your care and you are
who I pray beside.