Dreaming of Darkness

Sometimes I anger, hot red with frustration,
that I can’t live a life full of manifestation.
I close my eyes stinging with tears
and see clearly a different reality, creation.

Streets peppered with trees, calming and cleaning.
Wild green spaces for children tribing in freedom.
Black, brown, white, with disabilities or enabled,
all genders and histories intermingled.
We lighten our tread on the land and its creatures.
Helping not hindering healthy existence.

After children and responsibilities are safely tucked up,
women enter the night alone, or in covens,
Clear skies or starless, they wander
recharging under the moon and comfort of darkness.

Spring flowers they planted erupt open,
Filling the air with scent and potential.
New life growing upon old life deceased.
One birthed out of our grief.