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
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