Still seeded with moons — Her unphased avatars —
Her draped robes are reddening — so patiently—
the folds of grain, tree, and her great body, spanning
the old and new thrones — Come and sit — here — to free
the quick cupping water, its scimitars fanning
and looming past time — come — let Her sparkles be

the fruit of our Queendom — let’s turn into stars,
grow back into bloom through Her sweet distaff’s planning —
come — spiral these — roots — past — the voices of wars —

First published in Court Green.