Heaven-gate

There is no heaven-gate
pulled shut by night by a
donkey of an angel.
The wild lovemaking of the pond,
dragonflies rushing with light,
tells us this. Theos, immanent:
God is in us with passion.
My son will drink the waters of my breast
until the earth tempts him distant
or Thanatos roils in the twilight.
Let seizures of the earth take his breath:
I shall give him mine.
I am the mettle of the lowering sky,
my soul the world’s soul,
and I love, as a mother must,
fierce and gentle in the starlight.