What if the trees you drive by daily
know your secrets as their own
I long to dance on stars
free of gravity, of regret,
I wonder if my grandmother's magnolia
remembers my breath,
the swirl of my fingertips,
the salt of my tears,
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There are secrets buried deep
in my daughter's hair,
her thick, black curls
hiding the forgotten words
of a curandera, a chief, a slave.
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Last night I closed my eyes
and slipped into the past
holding time in my hand
like a smooth, round stone.
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The oak in my backyard is dying,
a century of promises in her branches,
secrets in her roots.
What if I wake up one morning
weary-boned and quiet
to discover that after a lifetime of searching
I have been here all along--
She flows into rooms
like a river, unnannounced,
I left you a love letter
taped to the moon,
I felt him before I saw him,
his gaze following me down the frozen aisle
like a shadow, his left hand resting
on the thick glass case.
What if our mother sings us to life
with each rising sun,
our bones soft with dreams,
stardust shimmering on skin,
I woke this morning to star songs
shimmering outside my window like prayers,
the tree trimmer’s blade freeing them
from my neighbor’s oak felled in last week’s storm.
When my bones ache
from holding my pain upright
and my eyes are too tired to see,
When the first light of day
begins to glow with allow
and you’re still floating, weightless,
between then and now
If you relax your hearing,
let your thoughts slip
away like silk,
the birthsongs of stars
will echo you
back to you--
Every time you risk it all
to be seen, really seen
a tiny crack spreads across
my shell from inside--
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Every time I choose to heal
in this moment
condition-free, no-say,
In the pause between breaths,
suspended in time and space
your Self waits to show you
what it’s been trying to your whole life--