Essence of Being
My toes squirm
like fat little worms
through this moist soil
they let go of their convolution;
disconnect from the brain that tells them
each day
what they are
and are not.
Here they are just so.
My hands grab
like the beaks of birds
these golden blades of grass
let go of the rocks they carry;
wipe clean the slate of crumbs they leave
each day
their way home
to evidence –
now left just so.
My lungs burn with life
a crisp morning air
razors through them
ecstatically.
My eyes caress such
fine tendrils of light
called dusk and dawn and
mystery.
My ears collect an orchestra
of locust song and wood
bursting forth in a crackling
warmth.
My mouth kisses a
saturated breeze impregnated
with ocean and pine and flirtatious
berries.
Their juices stain my chin.
These feelings stain my skin.
And draw out pricks
from parched follicles
with neural fingers
that trail over
and into
and through
my being
“this is it”
My breath whispers carelessly
in an ice-shackled cloud
that veils my face
with its truth.
A maternal gesture
of nature
towards itself.
For it is I
and I surrender
to this sensory onslaught.
“this is it”
Being alive is a wondrous
wondrous
thing.
Copyright © Adelheid Manefeldt | Year Posted 2015
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