(the text encircling the womb) Yawning seedlings kiss open flow. A child, a thought. Circular restoration. Grace washes the bruised space in my womb. I feel a tightly folded pulse of light. A deep universe sprouts, house concieved of nourishment love and the mind. The cultivation of tears. Broken flowers. My dream speaks, created the egg, born from spilt heart milk and earthy body.