A Blessing You're afraid I will hold it against you, leaving in this dying season, a wreath in the campo santo of love. In the hush of your departure I hear the whisper of us up from the oyster bed, flying wing and wing into the wrist of consciousness. Sorrow can be as wild as the oxeye, as stubborn as the wild pink. But I will not drink at the river of forgetting, or curse you, or tether you with need. I am a woman rising, like water, like helium. I bless you for lightness, for hydrodynamic power, for oracular sight. I bless you for the dance, the leap I thought I had perfected, until our arabesque into celestial time. I bless you for breaking me open. I bless you for love that cannot be domesticated. I bless the oxblood that runs in your veins, I bless the wild root of you, I bless the warrior and the king. Blessing you, I let you go. Autumn is time to plant wildflowers, queen of the prairie, yarrow. This is how love grows, like a perennial, like a premonition, like a miracle.
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