I love my inner darkness—
discovery within my within.

I am the medicine in the lights
whirling through quiet depths.

My medicine comes up for air,
out of silt in a pointed stone.

Out of sand on the ocean floor,
remedies rise like bubbles.

Peace lies in the velvet emptiness
— I love too much above and below.

I am still places arising from the black
of the heart, of the heat, of the hearth.

I hold my medicine inside the entrance
to ocean’s depth below where trees are

Disappointed, where earth is oppressed,
where reflection of water seeps through.

I take all I have abandoned, exiled,
interrupted from the darkness inside.

I swallow parts of my body, gulping
into the cold wet recess, dreams

Of bound feet, embroidered in gold and
orange, of thighs lost in pink blue sunset.

I welcome the grey tongues of elders,
of earthy wombs drowning in my fears.

I stifle their cries, so medicine allows
what is not yet born, not yet met, not

Yet finished. Their cries never fall away.
My medicine is here to lure, to lull, then

Enfold them in my endless lap. I go
eagerly to lose my waywardness.