While in incubation

The unformed butterfly heart of the nation,

somersaulted

like the hang- man in the tarot deck.

Upside down she tumbled into the unfamiliar,

viewing life’s constructions

with revived creativity.

“What now?” she whispered.

 

Her mother always said  after one of her tirades,

“Oh,  but what about the mystery?”

 

Is the empty cup empty

or filled

with a suspended, animated new substance,

as yet unnamed,

nourishing  all who sip?