My Name is Lucina

This is a poem that came through me seven years ago, and is a holy tapestry conveying some imagery of the depths of my entangled belonging to and with the world.

My name is Lucina I spring from Artemis and Diana The string of my bow is spun with fine tuned pain plucked from the tears of wounded My arrow is dipped in pools of venomous compassion For love can be unbearable when one has renounced the world I walk beneath the moonlight tracked by Coyote of Red Dawn with the rumblings of Mountain Lion humming to her prey Though you cannot see them I have wings of wind that speak in Sky and move the trees. My name is Lucina and my soul dances the song of wild antimatter, innocently fierce and wildly dangerous Barefooted along the Earth thrumming the ground with heel and toe pulsing blood and beating heart are a hunting call that vibrate the walls of Shell Hair of whipping fire cloaked by Night and bathed by Moon, I run with the medallion dangling from my left palm and read the rights of the dying and dead from a scroll whose speak is older than old Crystallized waves roll forward my ancestor, King of Oceans, walks beside me into the storm riding a chariot of churning clouds He knows the way but mayn't aid for he knows the map lay inscribed along my bone My name is Lucina I was birthed by ravenous white wolves whose eyes of obsidian black are portals of truth I speak in howls and claw against stone and read the tracks along dust and dirt broken branch and burnt limb With my ear pressed to the ground I can see the rooted trail Scents filter through air like dusted gold filling my lungs with a bright death There is a fury in my heart that sweeps across a tender and quiet night I will not stop my hunt I will perish beneath the stars weight of my bow in hand before I give up or ever give in And when the sun slides down the mountainside dressing the stone in early morning light, perched atop the highest peak I will let my silvery eyes burn with the effervescent and boiling flames of pain And spill my blood like a river to mark the way of remembrance for those who have forgotten their map is inscribed along their bones those who have forgotten that the way in is through...