you come to me late at night on the moon set country woman child of the weeds familiar old man in the mirror under the firefly of memories. look up close to the torch at the temple of expectations. Be Holy Woman rainbow of desires.
Be the child sitting on the edge of the well. Be the forgetful old man to futile thoughts.
Be the wick who lights the fire of being oneself.
Be the pillow of a thousand grains of rice welcoming what comes in wise joy a pinch of salt on the lips arms outstretched in embrace flickering light of the day to come.
