Snap

Snap the spires.

Break the hierarchy 

into kindling.

Throw it on smoldering coals.

Around the fire,
make a murmuring circle

that needs no leader.

Remember where flowers come from.

Root down in what you've forgotten,

what you might become, 

cilia tangled in sacred soil.

Do it in darkness

while the birds are still asleep.

Walk barefoot on mossy stones

keeping your balance with 

empty hands, arms outheld.

Close your eyes, imagine

nothing but the night,

as water sings beneath you

in secret caverns.

Feel the suck of mud in your toes.

Germinate, swell, burst open.

Spill up into the sky

those crinkled rainbows

you’ve been holding too long

between your ribs.

Let it be said of your people, 

"They grew in the shadows,

then they danced."

 Photo: Visiting weeds in my back yard