Woman in Motion

Woman in Motion

You leave this sign on your door:
If the goddess is not in residence
she is in motion
in her various and unknowable ways.
I who seek her am the witness
in her wake. Yet I know that she––
you––must renew your ways   
in the ways of water:  its yielding
resistance, its invasive surrender
you take for your own.  
In your Sargosso Sea
you fashion liquid forms  
with cupped hands and treading feet.
You exclaim the great wonder,
the odd sighting for us all.
So you leave changes
on what you notice—this too
is how we notice you.

Yet you have a special nib
that makes another mark:
along your hiked path you upend
gross rocks on their slenderest spurs––  
so you point to a point
of motion grained in image.
They stand like exclamation marks
in the round of your Stone Henge.  

Is this where you pivot
in the balance of your dancing?  
There I suspect
you must gather rarer forms
of motion:  the slow ground swell
of the Raga, the undulations
of wind-shaken oceans,
the occult forces of irises
up from earth.  Even your lotions––
aloe and coconut­­­­­­­­­­––seem to glide you
though the currents of your day.  
All these and more are the arrangements
of your calendar of notions.  
They are you––yet not.