The Second Seeding
Now, quick make women's work of our selves: Stretch skins that will not, supple, split From richness of all things contained: seed and blood And need, and all such nourishment. Our herd Is on the move, the god herd; it shakes itself Beyond our fires and from its home dark Comes to trample. Goddess; all things tidal Rise to your return; the We reweaves Its wickered self to webs of resonance Where even gods can surge and, safe, be held. Help us hold, hold, hold the fecund morphogenic field Till universes bulge in us, and we expend Their luscious babble into birth like galaxies Of voices found, a bioluminescent Pentecost.