As you fall
asleep tonight,
do not take this
inhalation for granted.
Honor her like a royal guest.
Make a spacious tent
of your flesh,
for She who scattered
the galaxies
and harvested all
their clustered stars
has come to dwell
in the vineyard of your body.
She will pour the Milky Way
down your backbone,
anointing you with spikenard
from her fathomless
jar of whimsy.
Let each expiration guide you
to a mirror of moonlight.
The key is silence.
Step through.
Follow her rainbow into the void
where wings of astonishment
will carry you from
death to death.
Fathom the sap.
A scent of blossoms
from the arbor under your ribs
will guide you home,
heart widened
by a memory of stillness.
Let her lure you down
green corridors
and pull you into the seed.
If you won’t become hollow,
how can you be filled
with the music of Imbolc?

by Fred LaMott
photography Hiseo Kanno