Watermelon & Sunflowers

There's a voice inside me that says I am home.

Like a watermelon or a sunflower.

Something natural and large.

There is also a voice that says I know nothing at all.

Not the smell of the sky

or the crunch of the dirt.

Instead, I am empty,

like a filter for air.

As though all passages have been opened;

No airway blocked.

As though the vents are fully opened

and I would let you walk through

if you wanted to.

But even so,

I do not know

what that would look like.

Your hair is pulled up in ringlets around your head

and I think I see you clearly

But then again,

Are you just an open vent as well?

And if so, what does that make the two of us?

What are we when the smells don't make sense anymore,

When the flower becomes unrooted from the ground?

What are we then?

What are we now?

Sometimes I think I know.

I feel like we are so many things

and yet all of it undefined.

I've never felt like there were so many possibilities existing at the same time.

And yet no label for any single one of them.

Your breathe reminds me to come back to the present

and I realize that the watermelon

is coming from the candle on the windowsill

the flower is a painting above your chair

and I am just a figure within it all.

A human with a heart and a mind

both open the way that a vent can be

both receptive the way that our senses can be

both bodies existing in a plane in which there is no reality clear enough for who we are.

I just wish there was one thing I was entirely sure of.

But then again,

Maybe there is.

The one thing I truly know for certain,

is the ground opened

when you

arrived