Perpetual Journey

Coiling back into the warm,
dark ovate, each vertebra clicks 
into place. A million dreams
shift and congeal and I 
wind back into the smell
of humus--rotting leaves,
rich loam, whispers. 

If the days grow
colder, and light slips
through my cracked fingers
I will continue to delve 
deeper into the fire
that flares below
the surface of knowing.

I will continue to surf
the light ribbons of my 
mind and body 
until I touch the sun
with my lips. Fingering
it with my tongue,
I will carry 
that blazing orb 
like a pebble
in my mouth 
back to its 
source. 
~Suzette Winona Summers