This morning

What I Dreamed

It is the sacred greentangle, the jungle time
of the jaguar. I come to help with the start.
This: twin cubs coming into black fur again
from the womb before daybreak, before the next moon away.
Their woven vine nest cradles hang low in boa branches
Indra's nets suspended in the wet air. I come
to birth the holy and beat a hasty tattoo home.
But the jaguar purrs it means two years
apart this time, two years in the task alone.
Alone with Jaguar, and the cubs-to-come,
and a shaman made of shadows.
Shadows made of green.
Green that drips from canopy
to hotplate leaf-deep floor.




rbp 1/3/07






...first draft, 35 minutes of keyboard chatter and backspacing but I said I'd work on poetry for the writer's group gals, so here ya are...