I know a woman

I know a woman Only her voice can stop the passage of time and fill a hemorrhage in the mud bank. I know a woman who alone can arrange maturation with her own hands, turn it over, to be born on her palm a poem crowned with holiness. A poem that reads to the night its first biography, and teaches silence how to carry stars. And the body has a story of fire— a fire that remembers ashes, that bends destruction into seed, and teaches light to rise. I know a woman, her breath is the silence before dawn.