In homage

to the ones who bore the prophets; the mothers no one cares to remember

to the women who have given so much, bleed for us to live, bow so that we have shoulders to stand upon

to the men who choose to be fathers, and daddys

to the ones who’ve come out of a closet to a hostile family

to the goddess, to the god

to the rhythms, to the dancefloor, to the shaman, and the witch, and the warlock, and the healers

to my angels, and the angels

to the moments when we have been angel for someone else

to the moments when the fact of our reflection is so pure it is blinding, and wondrous that it is coming from the eyes of a someone we’re staring into

in homage to our bodies and our flesh and these “glorious machines”

to magik and silence and stillness

to courage in the face of abject terror

to poetry and paint

to the dance and the myriad expressions of the divine

to you

and all of me

that you are..

[originally 10.11.06]