Awaited, You Are Always Everywhere

Coyolxuaqui, goddess of silver fire, the night becomes you, and begins here: words of the threshold. The body is a pilgrimage through it, a river that reads us out. Out of the flowing darkness, stars are drawn. Out of the body, blood. And out of the life, the journey. The fume of frangipani marks the fluid air with air’s own invisible movement. The darkness hesitates, and never becomes complete. It welcomes us and despises us because we are not really strong enough to live in its embrace. Your heart is an hibiscus whose shed radiance it absorbs. Often though, I think I myself am the darkness I travel through, a fish in a smoking mirror. And this, this is the moon door, on the other side of which we are in a room, breathing the dark, urgently awaiting our own arrival.