Fukinagashi

To capture your first breath, and in a glance, determined to be safe, clear, fruitful

A premature nascent calculation,

a support beam founded on the safety of a petrichor aroma, feeling like an unexpected embrace

By the bending wind.

To capture your first heartbeat,

As you were in the sour underbelly of the mud’s guts, a strange feeling of living greens traveled into your veins, not mixing well enough

As you knew that growth outside would change you, and recalcitrant—-

You shoved it away to inhale the Geosmins of the grounded sky water,

Only the rain felt like home.

Your body hurts,

It always makes you feel separate and apart, feeling a bit smashed up and unbalanced

And everyone going past

Is way too quick, spinning wildly like a crazy organic carousel

Of splinters and traps and bright colors.

You know you have damage, but there are no scars.

You know you can’t seem to stand up straight, but everyone is still

Expecting you to.

You try to scar your branch

To capture a tiny fraction of that trauma,

But the wind sweeps it away,

And you’re left with a covered piece of wood,

Made to look like your color,

But it looks off and a bit of a new shade.

You were windswept,

The trauma built that created you,

Not the green wriggly things, not the glaring sun,

nor did the painted moon.

Even as I was still

So still,

Still like a frozen leaf,

I saw your voice creeping through the mist, from a million miles away it felt—-

And it danced on the wind, creating new mixes of raw music and light.

Way across the field, we trapped the light

And created a safe house,

A house no stretching wind could ever break.

Your voice collided with mine,

And the air was still

Your bending look now destiny driven,

Fully cognizant and strong,

As our invisible hands touched and

Our frail reality and the cracks we felt were rearranged

Reformed

And drawn up like a crazy, old love song.