Ripening

I will not apologize for being,
for belonging to the fathomless.
There is a succulence in woundedness that ripens into flourishing in secret places.
There is a seeing like glancing blows, a flinching at the edges of all we are,
Retraction as communication furled against the world.
I would offer you instead a gentled invitation,
the Nourishment arising from the poison at my root,
Deep in that ravine that is relatedness through which the only path is Following our Hunger
Trusting what Sustains us to mark what is food, where is home, who is we.
Immerse into devouring;
This spiral from above is naught but circling and there is no other guide.
Trust, then, quietly, settled back into that hollow behind your breastbone
Where you carry the speaking scents and storied being that is the weft of all you are.
Do not apologize for the fathoms where you belong,
Cultivating susceptibility to all that is yet unwritten in your heart
Deep, deep into your woundedness where your own flourishing
begins.