by Beatriz Hausner
“Where is the point of placement of the heart and now by heaven?” you asked.
It is bleak hereabouts, was my answer. So we both prayed inside a house where
the incantations were shouted through devices placed inside the ear and went mad
with the din: The shrieking animals never slept. Gone strange they were inside us
as we hunted them down. We then went looking for the goddess of misplaced likeness
flailing limbs, ours, knocking at the walls of our room. Away we journeyed mostly
not too much through distant in being we became the source of water where
happiness and giggling reverberated in divinity. Now is the glimmering of liquids
our little people still drink, those small beings our selves are, as when we met,
precious because of the persistent adoration, our mutual fuzziness and the persistent
fondness between our legs where the rippling heat endures. Abiding we go
invoking our inheritance handed down by the ancestors, wanderers in the
desert and still calling us to live forwardly and retroactively: for good and ever.
Thus we meet and daily at the lunate crossroads where you, my Moon-man,
and I, Adoratrice of your Sun, still wander The-Levant-of-the-mind, there where
we lie under a blanket made from threads spun from mist-like purple flax.
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 2