I want to be the small frond of a fern,
to feel the hushed prayer of the rolling wind,
to curl to the sky in lapsing drought,
to be green with life for a while, to be
blind and dead too. To have time enough
at last to do all the sweet nothings,
to be a home to many stories,
to listen and not speak so much.
I want to exhale life like oxygen.
I want to hide above the ground
in plain sight, reprieve for cardinals and
robins- to be a softness, admired.
And I want to feel with my
feathery fingers for moisture,
for the blessing of rain, to grow into
myself again and again. I want to taste
of dirt- of the ground up high.
To be unconcerned and unrelenting.
The greenery. The good of the earth.