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]