In the evening, the ground wraps herself around me, tucking me into
a partnered sleep
while I dream dreams and
work in the quiet background, underground.
No fuss, no muss, no standing on ceremony but
Silently weaving the way.
Sometimes, she pulls me into her
and sends me out through her
like aspen roots spreading across the lands.
The stillness masks the blood from the wounds of many,
sweat from the fevered hearts of most,
and tears for those who cannot shed their own.
When she asks me to bleed into her, I part my legs or
slice my body to reawaken the sleeping buffaloes and giants,
and warm temples of the mount and heart.
When she asks me to come into her core
and move with the fire
we dance a slow dirge
while rebirthing ancestors and ancients
through man and mud, stone and sweat, dust and ash.
We shake mountains and men,
ride the wind and
dance through water
bringing the holy from the depths–of heart, of hearth and mantle–
into the deepest love there is.