I begin with weighted buoyancy.
Firmly and lovingly, I plant my own roots into this
And feel its nourishment rise up through me and beyond me—
like the call of a chickadee—
into the wind.
I weight in patience
like a pine branch for the wind
Watching the day roam across the
I wait for the weight until I realize
It’s already happened
Slowly — over the broad
strokes of a moment,
over the intentional
batting of my eye in
My wait is over.
And so, I move out and over the
into a flash of buoyant light.