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On Trauma and Vegetation Gods

The Emerald

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If We Were to Sing of the Body of the Goddess and How She Was Again Made Whole

If we were to sing of her bones and the geen, green marrow and vines, slowly loosing fibres, dissolving. We would be singing of drama regrown as a tree. Her body rewoven with shoots and tendrils, her stars sprouting dark ivy and summer blossoms; growing of herself, a garden of herself. And rosemary, the scent of wild aregino. If we were to sings of the body of the goddess and how she was again made whole, we would be singing.

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