At the gates of the medicine wheel
Broken open at each pass to the south
Colors skewed at youth in the arms of the grandmother
Trust built on two thrones driven by the fire
Stardust casting invisible walls to rage against
Broken open to loose control of fragmented opinion to dynamic confusion
Combustible under a blanket of feathers and beds made of tree cover
Misty windows pointed toward the dawn
Tinted black for hiding to take flight
Broken open in death while living surrendered to the word
Poetry
Replacing the journal of time and records in the ethers
Touching light just long enough to see past shortcomings manifested in maddening swells
Warm hearted to embrace the ground keeping the senses in check
Broken open in body and blood
Left to echoing snapshots of a chaotic space lost to the electric lobes vibrating the drums at night
Grabbing tightly to tiny fingers looking for the volcano of feminine essence
Broken open by fears and Holy Spirit thatched calmly with the sound of distant thunder
Hanging sparks of danger in captivated observance, locking feet in place determined to swim
No shelter
In the open
Flagging prayers plotting a course just beyond knowing
New roots coming on the heals of monsters and sagebrush
In the broken
Spots running across the scent of lilac in the doorway to mystery
Broken open.
Maya Rose 