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I am a child seeking
His lost mother
I am a grass blade
In a concrete fissure
I am atrophied and feral
Leaping at drops in rivers
Your fruiting body
Springs from soil alive
Connections spun below
A child cannot lie
What you reveal is real
Not the shades imprisoned
In my overcast mind
Cumulus accumulates
Humid, vaporous thoughts
Linger long, felt, unseen
Until you unlock them
Scatter me in wanton
Formless dissipation
The shape that each life takes
Is just a way station
Life unfurls on mayflies’ breath
Evaporates unseen
Let me live a moment
In grandeur, microscopic
In aqueous kaleidoscopes
In shards of broken glass
Delicate, diaphanous
In mirrors, fractured, thawing
On extending palms and tongues
I am the fruiting body
Nourishing, returning
In deliquescence lost
In self-consumption born
Consecrated, consummated
Into the soil sown 