Cistus

to have always been
something 
what is it--that gem?
that binds our blood to bone
mind to stones
our fire to our dark
that spark
are we one thing or many...
to have always been
of pages
of color
where dreams begin
embracing the oneness
of wild forests and vast skies
cut by the coldness
of
easy love's
choices
and sighs

when surrounded by dancers, i danced
when loved by lovers,  i romanced
weighed down by wounds
i scar
when thieves, i thief
when songs, i sing
when dirty, i clean
but when rocked
i paper
flat--forgiving
ashes to ink
tendriled and tethered--all the time lost
to accept being feathered
by scars and winter's blue frost

to now
trust
the path
the something unnamed
to speak in rhymes
to play the game
i trust the weight of all before
i sit with the diamond that lies at my core
not easy, not hard
it is what it is
mystical carpets there amidst stars
breathing and dreaming
of
poems
and art

to have always been
something 
that something 
who knows? 
a wee quantum bauble 
quixotic rockrose