The Queen of the Nile has flooded my banks. I am the infant Moses nurtured in the reed bed, and the intimate lap and lullaby sway of the waters of Isis. I am a green palm tree in Her oasis. Her Spirit is my shade. The Sun God is laughing for His Queen has lured an other water baby into the arms of love. She has been sewing a reed raft with invisible incantations while I rocked afloat in Her womb. She has come with flowers in Her hair and teased me into manhood with the tickle touch of divine fingertips. I am rewriting a bible a living sea scroll of remembrance. I am a lion in Her bosom, my mane matted with desire's sweet dew. I have no name, but am a pet in Her passion. Fed with milky morsels of joy that drip from Her hands as love letters. I rip them open one by one and mark my territory upon them. She smiles at this and pats me down with a lover's kiss. Isis takes me to Her river, washing the sweat of a thousand nights of longing, from hank and flank. I can only wade here and tremble. One of Rumi's reed flutes salvaged upon a shore of ruin. I am a ruin waiting to fall. A door unhinged and a lock burst asunder. The ibis and the crocodiles are my lovers they pull me under Her standing, and baptize Jesus in my soul. Mary Magdalene kisses my feet, and I hold her nakedness to me and shudder, growling love into her ripe belly. I am every sweetheart's upheaval. An invisible wave pushed into appearance by a pulse from the fingertip of Love. Isis has found every rendered chunk of flesh and breathed Her life into my arteries for her pleasure. She has sent this soul berserk in the world as Her divine rogue elephant to trample down anyone who has cast love from them. The willow weeps no longer, but sweeps this river with the tresses of her graceful hair. This man god-being, her current and her care, sent fathering into exile and returning, a prodigal heart of Her greening. If the wind howls I become a wolf. If the sun burns I become an arctic lake melting into a gulf stream. If the dawn does not bring the scent of fresh roses, I open a rose garden in the hearts of children. I am the bear and the fox my den is hidden from every hunter but love. Plucked from the reed-bed my eyes open on this world once more, and I see all this passion seeking a channel to run to. And so I open my mouth as a delta and drink all this new wine down to be your drunk. This 'I' I speak of. This estuary of acceptance. It has no form to hold to. It floods the basins and the meadow-lands, the deserts and the valleys. It has no name on any map. It is unexplored but explores itself by letting it waters be any level. It is just a flowing. I am the 'Valley of the Kings' washed into new pastures, and raised up as green corn again. Every trembling ear has a thousand seeds that disperse upon the breath of the Friend to fertilize the earth with spring shoots. Isis harvests this soul and plants a new awakening in every lover's seedbed. These words have no one to speak them. They arise like fireflies in a warm wind. Isis labors and they appear from nothing and return to Her womb as Her children. Like this, poems blossom in the eye of eternity flash across a mind-sky and disappear, to be you.