n. The new moon springs forward to barely waxing.A small diamond sparkled girl with long copper locks tosses and flips about, surrendered to the undertow within my torso. Unknowingly, she begins to sink towards the dark and fertile waters of my lower belly. As she realizes where she is headed, terror overcomes her in this transition. Tendrils of darkness touch her and her anxiety is at once hushed. Reminded, she quietly curls into the fetal and enters an indefinite, restful sleep of the deepest kind.
I want you to hear this.
An intimidating drill pokes and wriggles to the right of my belly button, incessantly taunting discomfort. Ouch. Would it make any difference if this was the seashell kind of an auger? I breathe and envision a pink pearlescent cone shell, in its same uncomfortable place, in its same uncomfortable motion. You know, it STILL hurts. Only now, its more beautiful, and hence, I am more willing to experience it fully. Now, instead of shielding my face, squeamishly stealing peeks through my hands, I finally allow the 
uncomfortable wriggles to wash over and through me. As each rich and gnarling revolution passes through my senses, I am somehow comforted in the idea that I will never have to feel THAT one again.I don't care if I do this right. It's gotta come out. I look down at the fine movements of my rapidly typing forearms. They are glowing, white hot, and burning their thin and stringy shape into my field of vision.
Outside my window, the clingy pacific sky, an indigo-violet femininity, chases the receding coral sun with its grabby fingers. Something in these transitions is alarming, even panic inducing. The destined night sky surrenders its grasp on the day, its imploring fingers, now resembling something more of a wave goodnight. With my gaze fixated, this merciful scene showers a cool and softening purple inside my upper belly, graciously retiring the uneasy machinery for the evening.Things are brighter, louder, and clearer for you here.
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