Anou

My feet in the warm earth mud.
The worm crawling along my toes tickles,
Like a lost hair stuck to the skin.
I want to plug into the dirt.

I want to hear the playlist of Mother.
Sixty-eight hertz and counting,
Beat two, beat eight, a thousand beats of
the heart.

She vibrates in two tones;
Red and black.
Warmth and soul.

Every sound from the throat,
Is a mimic of Her language.
Soft cries, deep roars, and whispered smiles.
We were born from this,
And to this we must return.

Time trails behind Her,
Losing us in mirrored silhouettes.
Dangers speak in foreign tongue,
So today we must hear the bottom resonance.
We all know this language.
It is the language of the body flow;
the internal dance of love.

To this,
We must return.