This
Bicameral
More than voices
the gods in our heads
visions too
An infant mind
our mothers love
fertility goddess
turned clay object
bringing forth a fruitful crop
we pray to mother earth
our father's eyes not the first we see
his voice not the first heard.
Men offered forbidden fruit
lay down weapons
and leave the garden
now asked to return to fields;
what is that circle?.
Are the voices in your head
murmuring brook piano piece
cries of babe soothed
or the bellow of legions
charging the front.
The myths are bicameral
and so are we.
Drums of dance
drums of war, vows, chants,
discourse lost to the wind
lost to the waves
lost to predator lurking.
Had we not heard the rustle
would we turn to plant the spear
Or run when the ocean recedes?
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