Standing,
barefoot,
sovereign,
radiant,
in the wildflower garden -
silvered moon glowing,
Shiva's sun rising,
blue earth-turning -
I lift my head
and deep-breathe
the scent of holy wildness.
Let my soul
reach out
to touch me -
tender fingers
grazing soft clouds of sky.
The fire of perfumed roses
An excerpt from the full poem,
to be published in The Rose in the Mirror.
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