Here where the red bird comes to play,
plumes of gray revive a rose, its roots
are the eyes made for seeing bound to
a flowering domain where the Goddess
steers the plough to pastures of fertility.

I see the earth and sky in the image of
pure waters where the white bull still
roams before nightfall under Mithras’s
watchful gaze. Veils of radiant heavens
cross the seas and back to a lowland

so fair and hungry for peat moss that
it serves as spiritual masonry for Ostara
winds. The earth laughs in nectar, in
ambrosia, like a mystic beast of revival
pirating the universe with the spoils

and sails of life’s blooms where beams
of golden pleasures fall with sweet
affluence in an outward sign of the divine.
Strangers catch their footsteps as their wet
feet walk, the magic of their beat chants

soil in perfect time and measure. There
is omnipotence in this chemistry, in this
mix of mortal and supreme where the
greatest space is not built by defeat, but
by the faith of solitude fallen in a pool,

of purple petals. Redemption cycles,
bubbles over the latest wave, full of light,
and of deity. Eostre is the sand, the wild
uproar, the graceful handmaiden that emerged
from hermitage, in a covenant of truth and

youthful beauty. Dead leaves spring to garlands,
lost in imperial music, and immortal breathing,
here, where the red bird comes to play, and
plumes of gray revive a rose, here, where I
feel the coming glory of the light.

[Teresita Garcia is a former elementary school teacher turned writer. She has published under the pen name Theresa Newbill in various ezines and print magazines and has received numerous awards for her writing. Her book, The Open Diary of a Witch (a magical, autobiographical journey through poem and prose), is available at Hedge-Witchery Books UK.]