I’ve got a golden envelope
in my back pocket
I’m careful not to crush it,
smooth its edges before I sit
every day I slip things in it for you:
the scent of grapes,
soft things that yawn
green beanstalk money
last night’s dreams
and while I sleep, the gifts awaken
into their own mischief, alive
with the multiplying alchemy of you—
all the skirts and veils and layers,
a sorcery of grapevines—
all my feeding
becoming part of you,
how you offer yourself to the elements,
spilling wine onto the rocks—
looking inside you, I can see the sun.
My ear to you, I can hear the ocean.
Thief of avarice,
you absorb all the offerings
and melt the hard seals.
Your gold lining warms my hand,
fingers buzzing with an urging
to chase sparks
from all the world’s hearth fires,
forging them into stars
to adorn all the places
where you connect
and join with life.
© Psyche Marks 2021