an invocation

an invocation

By Jana Kleinschmidt

in which she triumphs, and i surrender.

the lightning dances

to the movement of my arms.

my fingers contain the power

of a thousand gods, amassed

in the semblance of a touch.

she hears me, i know

and i

and i

collapse under the weight

of a mere drop,

  (her guise)

  she is, 

      of course, the air at the bottom of the sea.

      do you know her?

      do you know her?

      do   you   belong   to   her?

there’s a lushness to the bones

when she first enters

and i, green, closed eyes, 

open

she’s in the wind

she’s just in time

she  fills  my  skin

takes me in, growing, now

stained, clean, and- don't we bleed the same?

      i end where she

  lays her hand, 

                  which is nowhere.

hey, you, she says, which is

        of course

an ancient dream on my tongue.

      taking root.

drop

after drop

and a        

falling,

            and i’m becoming

i’m becoming,

i  ’  m      b  e   c  o  m  i   n   g

a hill, kneeling

      face down, a child, all

rolling and always and always

    and always i

am 

  not

her

not

me

she, knees firm

stained earthen

     and she says walk, run, linger

be small

on my cold, dewy,

firm, soft muscles

dance

dance

dance

which is        of course her breath

a feather in the breeze luminous in the misty green

which is

her

me

her

a drop

seeping, slowly

    a force

  merging, flowing,

tending.