poem on Kat's Candlemas collage

[shadowbaby4]

Matryoshka

The direction of this compass is true
north, it points unwavering and once
swallowed
it is the instrument
of so much finding after so much losing.
And the heart of the matter is here
in her essential woman center
held nesting in her cloudless sky, and look
deeply, seeker:
each truth is smaller and finer than the one before.
She grows
red seeds ripe and sweet and savors the taste
of time in a time for lovers. She grows one secret seed
a flowered, feathered thing
and winged
in her woman center,
she grows blessings.
Her clock is set on now.