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Willow   Bower trash her calling Home to locust plague Sallow branches yield To callow child and snow Tendril kisses blown Seized by rigid kin Blot concealed, she Strokes the sacred air Shedding first the last of light Abiding tempest ire Bowing in submission To choke in rotting soil Rapture wakened far below Carnal wages
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The Senses

Launched into being, to dwellings unknown The Whole divided in parts Scattered and burning, increasing in number Born for pleasing it’s own An infinite vision, to gaze on the whole The god beholding the Self The mirror reveals a threshold of wonder As it cries to echo the Soul Scent of creation, vapor of life
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