In the garden tonight, I breathe heady scents that
act as a portal to a world I once danced with
My senses keening, I long to be wolf-like
and to gulp great lungfuls of air.
My bones hunger for the hunt, for slipping
my belly through the tall grasses. And at once
I am flooded with memories
– or a dream? – of ecstatic dances
and drumbeats that thunder my womb.
Shamans murmur to the spirits
of plants and I soar over hills, valleys, trees –
aware of the slithering of the snake; sensing
the awkward gait of crow. I listen to stories
of trees, rivers, stones, flanked
by shadows that dart and stalk, unfettered.
The vision recedes and
I find myself bathed in the
majesty of silence
Later I dream I am back in the garden
Caged like a bird yet unable to sing
© 2011. Sarah Horne. All Rights Reserved.
Spiral Paper Moon 