Cosmos

You don't have to call Her woman.

She holds all time and space safe,

tumbling life and death

within Her creative darkness.

There's no getting around that!

 All Her eyes glaze milky.

Universe swims silver,

one vast fish scaled with light,

spiraling

inside Her womb.

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Original Darkness tired of

eternity. Infinity

grew hard around Her like a shell

that must be cracked for life to open.

(She dreams the dark, contains the Void.)

What grain coalesced that pearl of mind? 

Self-fertilizing yearning,

discontent, surprise:

a stone dropped

rippling the emptiness of One,

and movement, change

began to spread

in sweeping spirals of inexorable Ki,

expanding and contracting,

breathing lung, a womban giving birth,

motion and emotion intertwined. 

Did She yawn, stretching in Her sleep?

Did She laugh at the absurdity of dream?

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She is the unknowable

and all our metaphors of praise

caress, tickle, please Her.

In Her there is no falling and no dying,

only endless transformation tumbling,

within a harmony, a sanity

of endless beauty.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018