Fox

Fox repeatedly tried, dashing in her swift trot across my gaze,

to remind me how to see.

Then one night I finally let her,

and I opened to the sight of ribbons

pouring out from within me.

From my mouth, rooted in my belly,

Out my eyes, up from the lump in my throat.

Hanging from my teeth, 

strung tightly to clenched fists.

Thousands of strands of colors,

coming from within.

So I began to pull and pull

And out came threads upon threads of 

Silky ribbons that told stories which had no words.

The stories of felt experience.

And they poured out in convulsive reverberation

A cleansing of the soul.

As they flew out from inside me,

I saw them dance upon the floor

Weaving into a thick blanket of graceful gratitude,

of which I now know can only be spun 

from the threads of story,

a lace of gray pain that has been redeemed into colorful light.

A creative alchemical textile of fear spun into compassionate knowing.

And when the ends of the ribbons came out,

They ignited electric buzz at the tips of my being

Slipping me forth into a revolution of mind.