I sit cross-legged on a wooden floor

in new moon darkness.

The sound of wind rushes in

singing a dancing tree song.

Dense air, damp and cool,

smells of leafing, budding life,

of rain, soil and muddy clay.

In my mind’s eye I dream, many things.

I imagine our pattern,

felt though unseen,

woven into the space between us.

We are independent strands drawn together again and again,

in an undulating dance,

forming a serpentine knot.

Our beginning,

it was a slow awakening,

or a renewal of sight–

a discovery of what has been before,

of what could be.

Our ending,

it does not exist.

The distance between us is fertile

with wonder and possibility,

with uncertainty and doubt.

Sometimes, I think my longing may undo me,

burn through me.

Truth is, my longing is here to nourish, to empower.

I allow the warmth of it to permeate.

I receive its wordless wisdom.

I will be the vibrant, fragrant blossom to the bee.

I will be the water’s edge to wild creatures of dusk and dawn,

I will be the curving slopes of your lover’s body to your seeking hands–

I will be all of this, and more.

There is no more time for surface-dwelling.