I cannot name the second
my first bud will appear
this year or the next,
nor autumn’s ripe moment
when my last clinging leaf
freely f l o a t s
to kiss earth’s face
bark, pollen
twigs, leaves, branches
all are stripped from me,
yet I do nothing
I am being done
being grown
seeded – breathed – fed – flowered
tree frog, beetle
spider, squirrel
sparrow, snake
finch and owl
in our coming and going
awake – or asleep
we feed one another
dark crowding clouds
do not shake me
nor the circling eagle
nibbling bugs and worms
incessant woodpecker
winged and legged uninvited guests,
I am rooted in potent soil
a cluster of my branches
long, long ago
were broken – severed
fire scarred my youthful bark
while in turn
nature’s assaults
became the map to find Me
all that appears
to be taken
falls back to me
plants itself d e e p
mystically, in the fertile earth
filling bellies and souls
flowering us in one radiant circle
I have no use
for the compass needle
I am never lost
whatever path my branches choose
whatever soil calls me home
it is there
I am grown toward the heavens
I am home
for snail, moss
lichen, wren
- you -
in that unnamable place
where the exit
is at once the entrance
they breathe
you breathe
I breathe
an exchange of
One
transcendent breath
as We are mysteriously – profoundly
held in the Womb of Life
being born moment by moment
