When the grip loosens, the light exhales through the cracks.
Inside that light I find you in the darkness.
You are a quiet cacophony arising from the earth, emerging from under a crow’s wing,
slipping through the subtle doorways in the atmosphere.
You are the melody of the creek in the quickening of morning.
You are the dragonfly hovering
over the damp jade moss
embracing the shaded stone
fixed in the center of the river.
You are the moss, the stone, and the river.
You are the warmth barely lingering on the tip of the tongue of this soft wind.
You are the wind. You are the tongue.
And how the low sun cleans my eyes
and how the songs we sing pull the remaining poison from my throat
and how your song melts the wax in my ears
and how the sweat on my skin evanesces.
You place all the ingredients into the cauldron of my open heart
and with the right amount of time and space,
accurate pressure and precise heat,
Your ancient hands
draw them out,
polish and refine their prophecy
and in those fossiled palms, you protect
these indestructible seeds awaiting the season when
you place them in the heavy dark soil of the earth.
and in time, they sprout, push through, and grow
loosening the grip, reaching towards the light that exhales through the cracks