The Gyre of Dawn

In the stillness before sunrise,

a quiet blessing unfolds.

hues of orange, pink, and gold

glimmer on the eastern rim,

drawing sacred silhouetted mountains

nested smooth and jagged peaks.

I receive

a lushious gift—

a rain of blessings,

and something more ancient,

like the pull of gravity,

as my own joy rises.

As the world leans

into the arms of morning,

like a jewel

the earth gleams,

ignited by the magnetic gyre of dawn.

I turn, and continue walking westward,

the sun warming my back.

My darkened figure moves

across the limestone ground—

or is it Inanna’s shadow,

mirroring my every step?

And then I hear her:

“I have returned.

I am walking the earth again,” she rejoices,

as the silhouette of two birds

glides across her figure.

My hands rise of their own accord,

pulled into the sky’s centrifugal force.

The sun’s burning crown

bathes the air in gold.

Palms uplifted, I receive the day’s glory,

and stream it back through my heart—

a radiant river of gratitude,

as Inanna’s arms rise with mine.

—Lorena Wolfman (11/11/2020, 25/5/2025)