The offering

Darling, let us keep the light.

Which robe should I wear tonight?

Blue poet —

with words, words

inside and out,

and around

hem and hood —

about you, about you,

about us;

or green healer —

herbs, honey pots, potions, lotions

in all pockets:

big, huge, hidden and small

to soothe all your sores;

perhaps yellow gambler —

ever rolling and rolling the dice

for your lucky numbers;

maybe indigo shaman —

drumming and drumming away:

one way to chase evil spirits away,

away;

or violet drama queen —

reflecting, enhancing your every emotion

in curvy carnival mirrors,

casting shadows

meant to be shattered,

forever removed

from your way;

or maybe orange silly girl —

half soaked in bubbly lemonade,

covered in cream and popcorn;

or — om! —

black buddha —

full of sunyata,

and it comes with a precious seed

for your personal fig tree;

or maybe red goddess of love —

with a rose,

with a gun —

after all?

Make your choice,

while I wash my true face

in the pulsating,

cosmic grace,

glowing joy,

pure light and delight

rain

bow

water

falls.