The first thing you notice
is how hard it feels to sit with a restless spirit,
agitated by all the ways you’ve avoided gazing
at missed connections,
professing a non-attachment to introspection
that instead increases its need,
a pretence of patch work through which
your soul bleeds for authenticity.
Underneath this cover lies your bundle of energy,
bravely waiting for you to acknowledge its truth
and set out on this journey, one that
some will refuse, fearful of their own power
and its potential, but not you,
the you who has always known of kinetic flow,
the you who comes from the earth,
made from the same molecules as a pile of dirt,
each handful worth its weight in diamonds
for simply becoming, before then building
each beautiful view
and the sounds that surround them.
Your love is a work of art in motion,
each movement a choice of devotion
or selfish gain
and only by digging deeper than the surface
can the heart hear what needs to change.
This is the work of the dreamers,
those intimate with wilderness,
so at peace with the untamed
they’ve felt every natural disaster,
slept with the creators of war and human chains
yet still give birth to present moment
after present moment
and pronounce it sacred.