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.