safety is (not) a passage

Molten I am, cracking my shell,
devour my own abandoned flesh;
nutritive, my hunger burns the hotter,
a sacrifice shrouded in the roots which run
deeper on the path at our feet, the path
found only in what feeds us.
lapping waters spill from lips
limned by a fresh confusion,
opening vistas ordered along newly broken lines;
a narrative written in breath and being
and tracking tears like stars across the skies
we didn’t know to seek.
A softening invitation, this strange settling
into ash and starlight, sundered seeds
churning in the belly
of all we’ve left undreamed.