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In the Amazon’s breath, where secrets coil,
The great Anaconda weaves through soil and soul,
Its wisdom boundless, a shaman’s dream,
A serpent of light in the midnight stream.
I sit by the fire, beneath stars' embrace,
The maloca behind, a sacred space.
Above, the sky—an endless sprawl,
Below, the flames—a serpent’s call.
When I lie on the earth’s tender skin,
The Milky Way pours its luminescent hymn.
When I sit, the fire’s amber gaze
Becomes the portal, a serpentine maze.
Burnt logs twist with serpentine grace,
Scales of ember, a timeless face.
I stare, time spills, a molten flow,
Into the red where secrets glow.
Eyes lost in an orange sea,
Where millions of sparks dance and flee,
Until, from flame to star, I shift,
Into a cosmos where veils lift. 1 reply
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I am within the star, cradled tight,
A speck in the womb of molten light.
Slowly, I spiral out, perceive
The Milky Way—anaconda's weave.
The serpent arches through space's veil,
A guide on the thread, thin and frail,
Its cosmic scales, a path to tread,
Through the invisible, where spirits are led. 0 reply
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