The Offering

From a womb I come, Offering of life. Let my navel, join to yours my Moon. He brought his hands close to where everything throbs. Living and Dead share the table... Never ever alone, my hands, and yours. Let them Offer to a God, no matter the name. My table has not four, Nor three nor two legs. It must have only one; square and only one. Born from the womb. You turned your crooked Head. Rest, share. He always looks at us. In your womb I pour. My offering of Life.2