I sit in the crook of a very small tree
watching gulls circle
harmony of the seas paint bridges of water
to nourish, as we walk from here to there
arch of the land remembers
how it used to hold itself
that separation has spawned our conception
please tuck me in with a gentle lick of your dream spell
I will tumble down to rest in the warm puddle
on the brink of darkness
where the first seedling struggles to take root
it is quiet there
though the songs waft in like wind
weaving a sonic web
to color the sound of my silence.
– Lisa Kagan –
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