Oh Mother, my Mother
Sweet, Dark Mother
Your scent fills my nose
like bouquets
that intoxicate lovers
knitting them in and through
each other for an evening
a whisper
as long as the scent lasts....

But Yours oh Mother
Your flower
never dampens
with the churning of time
through fields of wheat
green to yellow...
Your elixir
in so many cozy grains
of richer than auburn
deeper than brown
soil.

I am beginning to smell
your perfume through
nearly everything that
lives on your sun-kissed
surface.

Oh Divine Mother
Great whirling Dervish,
whipping my Heart
into an ignited
windy
blaze...

I can no
other way
bring You inside of me
than to toss away
this dream called me
this fiction called we
and anything other than
this
just this.

But when,
when oh sweet One
when it is
just this
I cannot revel
in the joy
of worshipping all of
Your forms
on the alter of
your sweet dark Earth.

Scott Patrick Schwenk 5/11/09