by Selah Grenewood
I’m just digging into your soul
Until the only possibility is desert.
And in this desert, comes the spring.
Hurt with me.
Cry with me at this table.
Littered as it is with many nightmares.
Where is spring in the desert,
Where is Sedona in blue and gold
Her feathered bird hands
Cooing in love?
Instead they wring.
The four corners exhausted wings.
Where is the spring in the desert of the soul?
On an arid plain.
Empty of meat,
There is nothing left.
The soul without a heart is a desert.
Ghosts haunt this tableau.
Names and dates unalterable,
Segregations and broken alliances
Hands and eyes without vision.
There was no witness.
Hear, the cut hoop, the blood cawing
Out its death in crow black
The soul parted from its entry,
When? Then. Too soon.
Bring back Sedona, her eyes teal cast,
Sienna entreaty hair.
Bring back the light again, capture
How she turns as the wind
And when she cries the eagle’s soar
Christening the air to honor her.
The spokes of the moon touch her amazonite fingertips.
The Joshua tree stands to embrace and protect her.
The alphabet spirals sagebrush through her smoky robes.
The wolf carries her howl through dark
Passages where bats marry her calcite kisses.
In this desert built in fire dawn and dark,
The mesa makes love to every living,
Be it big or small.
How does a body become embodied?
How does a soul reach its heart?
Love, you’ve loved, as
She broke through your spell
But you beat her back on the table
Her cards aren’t easy
A mean strangled herd.
The Sedona Spring levels
The desert screams
Flat ground, there is no turn.
It’s walking into what was,
The Spring is then clear.
How does a love torn asunder
bind in holy rite?
The Sedona Spring whispers
The desert colors
Abalone turquoise teal
Sienna umber pollen yellow
Dust setting white beaded
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