Shaman spring begins at dawn
when inner-night mushrooms up
towards the heavens of day
where spirits, unseen by the naked eye,
drum-circle hearts until open.
Being at home here, you, me,
frogs, pond, lichen, rocks, and bark—
rugged or smooth--
still above underground mycelia
ever-churning death back into life.
In this year’s coming out celebration
hosts, guests, and omens gather
in the open air and clink wine glasses
of dusk rose’ before sunset swirls
it into moonrise merlot.
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