I Don't Know Who I Am

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .

Highest and dearest...Still, thirty-five autumns, I am writing- or trying. Reading, perhaps thriving. I cannot find the words, pen or voice. Silenced, contracting my own throat I want to yell and write words seen from every star above... but they will forget in time, highest and dearest. Time blends itself, being and living hardly removed from one another; I exist- some sick twist of sun and moon, no twilight or dusk or dawn or rise or fall or set or high, you--

. . .

You knead the dirt above me,

a seedling nourished

under raining water

from your watering can.

 

The weeds bother my

growing body naught

when you rend them from the earth

and they wished they ran.

 

I am eager to meet you

once I rise tall and dig low,

my silvery roots binding me in place

and I as I am began.

 

Tall, aiming for the sun

when the grass still closed in.

Shy, petals refused to bloom

before jade eyes brighter than

 

Every jewel underneath the earth.

Late, yet always watched.

Kissed by sun and moon

and tended by something more than man.