O Pandora!

I adore

Your panorama of reality.

Journeyer

(seeking with panache past all dire

pandemic panic pandemonium)

toward panacea Hope.

Treasure chest, hope chest,

locket locked

within our breathing chests,

black box of sleep

in heads like stones,

dreams bleeding color into day,

flying out like bats,

like shooting stars,

geysers of creativity!

O Tomb! O Womb! Daughter,

enduring beyond all pain and shame:

Darer! Doer! Darling! Hera! Dear!

Opener! Key (Open-Says-Me!)

to the fear-guarded city of seven gates,

love’s citadel, forbidden hell.

Open, panting desire, brave mood,

Your gift-wrapped Box,

orgasmic chasm of chastity.

Un-gild male Midas-madness,

with Your healing, greening touch

(sunlight Your living gold)

grounding soul in the whole,

Your panoply of good.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018