reclaimed crown

listen

with salt and fresh renewal

in the miracle of time

the same world

to be sung

the open mouth

my hands your hands

mother god

the source of poems

and look to the sky

coral bone

give me a way

rustic ceremony

study of brown

and remind you

the red line

and remind you

skin your teeth

and remind you

the difference between

a yawn and a smile

the tenacity of sand

the love within

the crown of your hands

(I am closing this series with a poem comprised of the titles of all the poems that came before. In a heroic crown of sonnets, the last poem is made up from the first/last lines of the 14 poems that precede it. But I wrote 21 poems and though some of them were sonnets, most of them were pantoums and a couple were neither. And 8 is my divine number. So I have a poem here of eight stanzas here embracing all of what I found. It is time for me to move on to another part of my archive, another ceremony. But I am so grateful for this experience which I ultimately dedicate to my parents. It has been a blessing to return to this day that was truly a community blessing of, for and by them. This visual document of the people who gathered with them to say YES we will be part of the sacred life of this child was a rite of passage for them as much as it was for me. Their youth, their watchfulness, their open mouths. Their love for me and all the love they called into my life that day and every day after. I am so grateful. And renewed. May you and all who love you live forever in the light of love.)