Dear soft core of my belly.
Dear curve of my ear
carving wind.
Dear dent in bark
that marks the character of the maple tree.
Dear the movement in me
that strives to exit this moment
in favor of the next.
Dear self that feels like no-self,
was told would be bliss
but floors me with its hollow and bent.
Dear air spirit that enters me
to build a brief home.
Dear gentle quiet
of true presence
growing in rare places.
Dear coastal strawberry
swelling beneath June sky.
Dear delicate roots
reaching through the loam.
Dear minerals that seep
from dying Rushes
into the soil
back into Rushes.
Dear reminder
to return
back
to the Meadow,
the Home,
the Balance,
the Body,
the Stone Hut and Warm Fire.
