When I feel the heat within and without,
the fear like an eagle that eyes my spine,
the tightness that winds my sinews like a twine,
I feel a need inside to knead the breasts of mom.
When I need to go to a safe place I glass my eyes
stand in space, let my paws move to trace the lines
of nipples that would race the warm milk
to comfort soul. I treadle, shifting left and right.
Power and peace will flow, without a doubt.
when I am pursued by fight, flight or fuck,
I reroute myself calm, to purr myself home.
No visions of birds, no image of wind, take placebo in
some shirt or mat, some blanket or pillow to track
ahead by going back to my birthing bed, straw and dust,
trust, the 4 pairs of nipples and soft belly musk of mom.
My hard leathered muscles supple to empty fur best
mother-soft, mother-safe darkness, purring to rest.

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