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.
it was a slow awakening,
or a renewal of sight–
a discovery of what has been before,
of what could be.
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.