izzy

you again my spiritual mirror

dancing in the crying laughter

of weddings gone into a worm whole

where they forget what it means to be there

inside the union of two souls that have been spiraling

how easy it is to forget this motion. in this rock. that feels so still

yet there we are. all the way from up there

to this down here. somehow managing to find each other

people do this all the time. but they forget. somehow they forget

the who the what the when the why

that was the movement in the first place

that was the heart pounding

that is the first kiss

the first dance

the first scent on the lips

and the soul

about where and whaty

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i

come home to you

and come home to us

i come home to the movements

we make with the dance of our kisses

our braided sleep

our home inside our skin

waking towards another bed

the one we build with our hands

the one made of us laughing smiling

crying fearing opening up towards

the tree in the middle of our house

where the fruit our children water

will build the gates back home

towards quetzalcoatl

earth

this womb of us

birthing each kiss

each song of us

waiting for the opening

between the bridge of sky

dowsed in the waters

waiting to run at our feet

where we hold no more

conditions for anyone

just let the rain and the water

of their dance come and go

history

there is herstory and history

braiding into the shedding skin

of a sun full of hummingbirds

waking the touch a straw bale house

where our children learn the building blocks

of re-membering the temples

inside of them

the home of us in them

mirroring another set of songs

they will teach us how to dance

weave paint without all the semantics

of colonized upbringings. maybe just

a little better. for their children to do it

maybe just a little better. for their children’s

children to bridge the heart of a temple

to the heart of the sun. heart of the moon.

heart of the earth. heart of the sky.

we

we dance this earth

approached by the breath

we are breathing the names

of all of those that pushed us

here

to us

together

we are dancing the names

of all those that loved us enough

to let us go to us

all those that loved us enough

to seed our us

to become our dance

b

you cradle my spirit

with your eyes

and the laughter

stemming from your soul

gives me wings

to gather the dreams in our palms

to make them with our feet

to know our home is right in front

of us. in the womb of us.

waking and awakening

so many places to reconsider

the soul. we are home. again.

thank you for you. precious

precious precious you that

are so many parts of the light

in my chest.

ww

8

precious warrior dreamer

you my love. precious song maker

sounds from beneath the earth

your chest breathes these places

precious dream maker

painting and drawing our hope

i love you. my love

you keep completing me

sacred sacred medicine

in your eyes. in your smile

over and over you keep

me. you keep completing me

i love you my precious love

time to go to work and contain

these dreams in their

where nightmares are a present moment

bring back hope and  reason

time to go and be part of that

without ever letting go of this

l

you make me love

not that i didn’t love

but you make me again

somewhere in there

between our skins

between our thoughts

between our reconsiderations

of this upheaveled re-creating world

you make me make material

this love. this dream births

hands face love screams laughter

this laughing pahfuf beauty

makes us happen

moves us happen

in the dream of us

birthing home the generousity

of our giggled sleepy time adventure

re0occuring with our home

made in our chest

made in our hands

clasping in the middle of the night

smooches in half awake states

good morning kisses half awake

birthing the smile of the day

owning in our sacred movement

irregardless of what happened

in the inbetween

we sing this song in the song of us

did you know this is my 90th

izzylogue

dreaming our names

etching our heart art

blessing the rhythm

of your inspirations

you my mirror

dancing always.

i love you boo boo

foreigner

they say these houses are made of stone

they say these house are made of adobe

they say these houses are made of dust

and bones rattling sacred snake songs

they say these houses are made of barrios

bellowing out the bliss of their memories

between gentrification and spanglishized tongues

layered in culturas trembling with the tonantzin

we the home of us. breaking into the dance

and building temples these size of small islands

building houses inside houses inside the breath of dreams

building dreams inside of dreams inside of temple songs

building these houses made of fire

stone, air, water, ehecatl. kneeling in surrender

building in the chest. the memory to create

a home made of watercolor prints.

a home made of self published poetry and arte books.

with the ridicule of laughter of those saying its worthless

unless its somebody else calling out the shots

saying you are worthy of being an artists.

unless its somebody else calling out the merit, worth, praise

saying you are worth of being a poet.

this house is not made of somebody else declaring our worth.

this like Supaman and his “Prayer Loop Song”

follows another lineage. Where we say

i am made of creator

i am creator

i am made of goddess

i am all the waters making waves in my body

Ometeotl is my publisher

She said. He said.

Go build a thousand pyramids to arte

of sacred motion. of palabras. watercolors.

poetry. children books. coloring books.

books of memory. and re-membering.

Ometeotl is my publisher

She said. He said.

Go be you.

En Lak Ketch.

Eres mi otro yo.