[female] Turn the bowl of night and watch how the stars slide down its side. Something I can never see keeps the spiral open wide. I have held that kind of dark in the hollow of my hips, felt a whole season change its mind when your laughter touched my lips. [male] I came home with rain in my hair, set the keys beside your cup. You took my hand and set it where your heartbeat met my thumb. I said, “I love this life with you,” and the kettle started to sing. You laughed because the whole damn cosmos could fit in a kitchen that small. [female] Primal Quantum Mother, dark as the soil under snow, I feel your turning in the places only a living body knows. A little heat behind my knees, a shiver down the bone, the thousand quiet ways a body recognizes home. [both] Turn me through the dark, my love, turn me till the dark feels warm. Plasma running through the stars, your palm running down my arm. Every time the circle turns, I can feel a little more. Cyclical love, cyclical love, we come back deeper than before. [female] The moon lifts out of the branches. Our shadows stretch across the floor. I used to think a cycle meant the same feet at the same door. But there’s a woman in my skin who can ask for what she wants. “Put your hand a little lower. Let me feel how slow you are.” [male] I feel your spine go soft beneath the heel of my open hand. You turn to face me halfway through, your hair caught in my wedding band. We laugh and take our time with it, strand by silver strand. Then I kiss the place your smile begins. I love the way it deepens when I can. [female] I think of those far galaxies, how the stars at their edges fly, and the weight we read in their turning wears no color in the sky. Then I think of the years between us, how they show up in your touch. How you know my left foot aches when I’ve danced a little too much. [both] Turn me through the dark, my love, turn me till the dark feels warm. Plasma running through the stars, your palm running down my arm. Every time the circle turns, I can feel a little more. Cyclical love, cyclical love, we come back deeper than before. [female] Biofield of the Mother, in my singing you are this: the warmth my body carries long after a goodnight kiss, the rhythm that my fingers find when I wake against your chest, the way desire can move through me and leave me wholly at rest. [male] In the morning I’ll cut cedar for the shelf we’re putting up. You can mark the height you want while I pour the coffee in your cup. Then tonight we’ll take the long way through the pines behind our home. I like the way you stop mid-sentence when the first stars start to show. [female] Sha na ri, e lia sha, night is warm against my tongue. Sha na ri, e lia sha, I can feel the turn begun. [male] I know the song by how you move, the pause before you lean. I sing the low part underneath and leave you room to breathe. [both] Sha na ri, e lia sha, our feet find the turning ground. Sha na ri, e lia sha, let the low note carry us round. One hand warm upon the waist, one foot finding where to land, and all that dark around the stars, and all that warmth in a single hand. [female] Oh, Mother, when the fire settles, I can feel how much is here. The pine outside our window. His voice low and clear. The little space between two pulses where the next one gathers speed. If I could put the night to music, this is how I’d let it lead. [both] Turn me through the dark, my love, turn me till the dark feels warm. Plasma running through the stars, your palm running down my arm. Every time the circle turns, I can feel a little more. Cyclical love, cyclical love, we come back deeper than before. [male] I draw the blanket over us. Your hand comes to rest in mine. [female] The last star slips behind the pine. I close my eyes with yours. [both] The stars keep turning. We sleep.
