I am myself taking root.
I rise from the water
and enter the city as a fog.
I rise from the stone
and my heart shines like a sapphire.
There is nothing written about me anywhere.
I have descended to the bottom
of the sea,
among the moon glow of fragile faces,
and no one believes me.
I am taking root in the heart’s surrender.
I am not for sale.
I walk by counters of grapes
taken from the sun,
of pears pulled from the tree,
of lobsters blinded by the air,
and I feel their souls die in me,
and I put them back where they belong.
I am the new voice of forever.
Thought becoming wind,
hope a branch of lilac air,
footsteps,
shadows of a journey,
disembodied light,
syntax woven into butterflies,
sleep forever vigilant.
Effect without a cause,
because I am alive,
alive because I have none.
A lily drifting on a pool of light,
a dream waking up,
stars calling to each other in the sky,
going off and never leaving.
It is what I am,
a root finding soil everywhere,
in pots of nothing.
A voice telling a child how to sleep,
and then to dream,
and always loved,
no price for love.
And everywhere,
a piece of me,
taking root,
connecting distant doors,
until there is one great face.
One still flower
which no one sees,
petal by petal unfolding,
taking root and becoming me.