Procedure for the reclaiming the Self

She presses eyes and

Remembers sight and

Touches temples and

Remembers blood and

Twists her hair and

Recalls that

Thought

is space

In the hands of a lover she

Forgets herself yes

I forgot myself

I had forgotten

The outlines of this solitude

This body etched in air

Once I transitory, more

than lasting than leaves, more

Temporary than trees fleet

Compared to stones

Now remembering its

Edges, its dissolution

I come back

I always must

Far from you

Far into

My wildnesses

My own oceans

My glacial

Splendor

My mountains

Silences

My vast

Interior plains.

From Seasons of the Witch by Patricia Monaghan

Pages 189 to 190