She is vast.
She welcomes me, and has always been thus.
The gods are her adolescent children,
looking for power without knowing
from where their power comes.
I've drawn images in front of her
like a hand obscures a cloudless night sky
Obscured her with images of beauty, icons of grace.
But always, when things that begin end,
She is still there, waiting for me.
There is nothing I can do
to resist or deserve this,
for she is also me, in every breath.
If I pause, her light embrace is with me.
If I try to grab at her, to possess her,
that is what my art looks like, from the outside.
She's the cloak in the cold,
the breeze in the heat,
the cat in the window
and the dog at the feet.