At the Heart of the Moon

My faith is now in service, an open field where the hooves frolic, where the toad erupts from a deep burrow. Violence swept by the heavy clouds, raining it out in the barren valley. Here, in my green grass, my heart rests on the base of the moon's belly. A homecoming, where the Mother Goddess whispers me into sleep. I dream of cacao fermenting in the whipping milpa. I awake not with daggers but with the fruitful song of birds, the burning flame of change whispered into a white, smoking ember.