in the morning dark
only care now.
only open hands
in tremors.
you are still asleep
and I remember.
how
I carried you to the shore
before
you could walk and we
sat there watching. you
collected grains of sand.
between your palms
to feel them.
trembling
and then to the sea
to meet with open hand
her power and know her
press against your own.
the slapping sound,
the open palm,
your laugh––
remember.
On being here.
Plant the crab in the sky. You must do this regularly, every season. Now the archer. Pay attention to the bull looking back and follow the gaze of the frog. Notice the tide. Tonight, it glows in full bloom and the cat snake dives gold into wormhole. Follow the fish where it echoes you back. Give recklessly of your abundance and hold fast only to your name. May it tether you to what may never be pronounced. May this be what keeps you, always.
