Will you walk to the caves with me? Gather
your courage in a small yellow gourd and
cross the desert where cactus never sleeps
and cold crescent moon is first to deny you.
Will you take your shoes off? Slide
on your belly through crevasses worn
smooth by seekers who tried and failed,
crying names of disintegrating gods.
Will you hold out your cup? Receive
the drops of folly purified by stone and
fire, aeons, knowing through reverse
you must travail and spill none of it.
Will you pour your words to me? Hold
back none, save your too-swift tongue
of ignorance till wisdom from all corners
hears and spreads the word and gathers.
Say yes to these and see who walks
with you through galaxies, and as for
me, I’ll plant those tiny yellow seeds.
© Elaine Stirling, 2013
–Image of desert at night