In the dark morning, before the sun emerges
we make fire
to call back the light.
Sing songs that lick a healing balm
on my wounded
woman voice.
White Apes crash
beyond the darkness of trees.
The sun cracks.
The Horsemen bring us each
a steaming bowl of washing water
and set it in the dirt.
We bathe crouched over the pan
naked on our knees
in a ceremonial wash.
Clean hands, clean neck
face chest chin
to open our hearts
for the rest
of our lives.
