I have a porch carved into it, where I look out.
Chakras: I drum and sing and everyone looks to my mountain, colors pouring,
and says: ahhhhhhhhhh.
I'm beautiful and enough.
And strong like the formation I don't have to climb because it is mine.
But I laugh. How absurd. To be free
and open and in the fourth, and still having let
My guards kneeling - tragic - let It in only to give it a horse to ride back home with.
(My prettiest. My fastest.)
From my porch
I watch the sun melt to orange. Bright coils. These colors are the only thing that can fill me now.
becomes a dot.
Hours later the moon slides open like an empty dish
waiting for a meal.
The blue. The silver.
I'm sorry I can't feed you, I scream.
The moon hears me and shatters itself - a shard.
We correct each other.