In Sugarland

I am the serpent that ascends the tree,
and I am the dove that takes shelter there,
and I am the tree. You fear me wrong, for
it is I who can understand all. You possess
no parts I do not own. I know hell very well--
your time in smoke -- in my company.
I've not been absent. Rather you've been indisposed.
We think someone knows. Feels it. She steps in.
When she needs to. It's a circuitous path.
Don't take that to mean it's directionless, or
rudderless. Third eye search light. Cast a
wild net. Time snags. Let go. Seen to.
This sacrament sustains. Twirling dove.
Tree of fire. Let go. Delve. You saw
the heart at the base of the tree and you
see how we're all connected. Easier to
trust the midwife. Out of space and out
of time we're here. The sweetness
is for amazement to look on splendors
so many faceted that the shards of
of rainbow pierce light itself as light
dreams the moon and she looks on
morning and evening stars and starlight
beams are the material of vision-seek.
You have the heart and x and the tree
of fire and the spirits that come to hear.
In the story, Sugarland is a journey,
you took. You brought back the bottle
of oblivion. This is the arena of proving.
So many don't flower.