silver merchant

When he speaks
I hear
a silver merchant
pushing his cart to market.
The tinkling, jingling,
of goods on display
that stirs and awakens
a sleeping town.
And the merchant smiles,
crooked, sincere,
at the promise of
a bountiful day.

manipura

Kali-Ma twirls in my root tonight,
leaping, laughing, screaming, loving.
Alive.
Freedom, wild and divine,
running through woods.
One.
My sacral explodes in light,
ignites Manipura,
expanding in spheres,
spinning loose fears,
and I am,
I am,
I am
free.