The desert is blooming.
The dead awakens:
light upon wildflowers
glistens sun through
old waters—
a return to home:
The home within your cells.
The home within your bones.
The home that carries the cries of your ancestors,
the blood of your lineage.
Alone, you are not.
You stand upon
sacred land
anointed with the
dust of stars,
explosions of millennia,
a song within your heart.
Kin stands ahead
behind-beside-in front-below-within:
You are their rhythm of
life giving life giving birth giving death giving birth giving
giving
giving
the beat of your blessed soul.
Alone, you are not.
Your tear, mine.
Your breath, mine.
Your cry, mine.
Your salutation, mine.
This is the heat-wave of
new creation,
boundless
entwined,
together
—all together—
the song of god.
Yes,
the desert is blooming,
we are blooming.
Take my hand.
Alone, we are not.
©rebecca cavender