I breathe you in, 
inhale- fragrant bodies of flowers 
that burst through your fingers 
wild and perfect for a moment, and then for thousands of years, 
Honeyed heaves, slow and deep 
exhale- and soften into pools of lace 
 
it is you who steeples the sky 
who stitches stars into darkness 
and pulls the strings of the mortal sun. 
You are the creator, the weaver, and the muse 
 
through dappled light 
It is you who wills the wind to settle the birds about the heavens 
Silver specks in your tapestry 
That you have been weaving since your hands could thread 
This land. 
How is it that everything you touch becomes so dear to me? 
I see you half-dressed and barefoot, 
A goddess lost in her creations, 
Heart open and bleeding onto this soil 
where I stand 
 
You give me so much, 
And yet, the ground below us burns 
 
Fall into my arms 
Charred skirt, and tears 
 
Give me the unbound tapestry 
Consumed by white flame and greed 
by embers incinerating your grass & your air 
your clouds and your birds. 
 
I will piece it back together, 
While you rest, my love. 
Who holds this sky up with her bare hands 
Who stiches stars, and sun 
who is so so tired 
exhale— 
let me 
dry your tears 
let me 
restitch this world 
you have created 
and nurtured 
let the smoke settle 
so that you can 
breathe.