When she turns on point she sets
My nerves alight and singing
Ice over skin, strings over frets
Turning, chilling, plucking
Straight down into my inner dark
Where she is heedless and fierce
Holding over my wanting heart
The ancient mother we share
She turns on point and the skins
Stretched under her feet shiver
Fabric of the world laid thin
For her to know and I to offer
And folding me, she constricts
The light into rings about her
Hers the ripe primeval kiss
To pull from bones their shimmer
Serial Outlet 
Mother Nature carries her lamp boldly, and has no fear of the truths she exposes in its light. 🙂
Liked what you wrote here, Lily. Nice ! 🙂
Thank you, Paul! My poetry has been getting very rusty but I decided to try anew!
Reblogged this on The Way of Possibility and Impossibility.
Thank you, I’m glad you liked it!