Prayer

 

we pray for the cold

like we pray for the rain

for the next breath

for a sign

that even in the paroxysms

of change

life continues

—Lorena 

Becoming

1.

Sea filled with night sky

mystery of reflected stars 

orbs of gathered light

sisters of the moon's light reflected

Goddesses of the rhythm of dreams bathing

their harmonic voices multiplied on earth's moist skin

revealed by the abiding gloam

of in be tween

2.

Cultivation's heat

the warmth of returning to the hearth

fear's cold shadow gone

heart's core reunited with creation's fire

sparks flying

3. 

Waters imprinted by life's sweet salty blood

Earth's citrine insight embraces

even as it pierces its own darkeness

Flames of tranquility rise up

breathing into the density of clay

becoming living spirit

each element holds the others

tucked away out of sight

the breath of life's mystery takes shape

becoming in the infinite now...

—Lorena Wolfman

the place i know

 

the only place I know

to experience divine wisdom

is in this earth’s body

where I live

with blood bone breath

oxygen carbon hydrogen…

mitochondria humming

in an eternal dance

part of a larger serpentine

winged being…

arising from an unnamed 

primoridal ocean

coming ashore rhythmically

again and again

with each heartbeat

—Lorena

Falling

 

falling

I am falling

as you may be falling too

falling 

into the earth

into realms of rest and dreams and soul

the realm of love

each one of us can be falling

falling into love

into love's embrace

as we stand in her grace

she flows down our arms

down our legs

past our knees

into the the earth

all demons who have spoken

in our minds

wherever they came from

who have spoken for too long

fall away...

—Lorena Wolfman

resurgido

 el cardón venenoso de largas espinas

se ve glorioso en el calor de la tarde

sus capullos brotándose 

tinte cochinillo fucsia mexicana

delicados como las alas de una mariposa desplegándose

para encontrarse con el viento

el instinto de emprender vuelo

solo apenas disfrazado

por sus astilladas espinas de hueso

a punto de matar

la mayor parte del tiempo parece que está en la agonía

de una muerte lenta

sus brazos abiertos la cruz de la angustia que carga 

pero ahora resurgido se encuentra transfigurado

henchida su carne verde turgente

anhelo de reventarse

en canción de flor y transparencia

y aún sus espinas se abren

un espectáculo de santo resplandeciente

anunciando su luminosa amenaza

brillando a la luz del sol

a punto...

—Lorena Wolfman

arisen

the long spined poisonous cardon

looks glorious in the afternoon heat

her buds pressing themselves open into flower

mexican fucshia cochinil dye

delicate as butterfly wings unfolding

to meet the wind

the instinct to take flight 

disguised only barely

by her bone slivered quills 

poised to pierce flesh

most of the time she looks like she is in the throes 

of a slow death

her outspread arms

the cross of the agony she bears

but now arisen 

she stands transfigured 

having grown into her turgid green flesh

longing to burst 

into the song of blossom and translucency

and still her spines flay open 

in a show of saintly radiance

announcing their luminous threat

shining in the sunlight

poised… 

—Lorena Wolfman

she knows the shadows she casts

 

on an occasional visit

to a far corner of the garden

the palo dulce tree in full flower

white sprigs waving in the breeze

tells me of the abidding of trees

it's hot 

the winds blow in from up north

where the world is on fire

and I am wondering about shade

where it may fall and when

she in her lush rooted sweetness

knows

she witnesses the movement of the sun

from horizon to horizon

and even knows nocturnal shadows 

intimately

all around her shadows 

form and dissolve changing shape 

stitching a gown that is the dance itself 

sometimes like lace

sometimes like ruffles 

sometimes hanging heavy like muslin

then ineffable 

taking flight on the air

her ball gown is haute couture

a dark transparent body 

forming and dissolving

changing shape

here and not here

there and not there

the palo dulce

native to this land

through drought and rain

through clouds moonlight and sun

abides endures and even flourishes

she knows the dance of the shadows she casts

--  Lorena