7. dark is returning

remember your ready palms giving wetness
to parched soil, watching its thick bed of nutrients
swell in deep brown satisfaction 

remember the womb, dark waters that were
protection enough for you to shape shift a
dream into warm bundles of neurons and
bone 

remember the black bottom of the ocean,
pooling their richest morsels of dna because
they knew interconnection like plump raindrops 
on prayerful cheeks and they knew we would
need them, to remember

remember the round face of your reflection
too burst open in blooming to make room
for anything less than absolute and
unconditional love of being you

remember the curve of your body resting so
fully the earth’s core seemed to synchronize
her revolutions with the steady bend of your
breathing 

remember the deep space of your imagination
unable to find its end in our own or any
neighboring galaxy

do you remember the alternate dimensions of
you in which nothing got in your way?

promise me something, no matter how often
harm rakes the tender caves of your trust

promise me you will not blame the tributaries
of your softness for the work of someone else’s
wound soaked hands 

promise me you will not blame the delicate
creation stashed beneath your skin for staying true