before the spring
eruption of our cosmic newness
there exists a silence
akin to waiting
like possibilities sitting
under the snow
breathing a deeper earth
rhythm, slower than the days
and nights, slower than a storm
cloud, it bides and hums this
dance. I am still
ever growing readiness, frozen
in the highest realms, mountains
growing faster, the whole earth
readying what is underneath
from molten core to the new
alpine flower fluttering its
first fragrance into the wind
of nowhere, there I am
dancing the perfect tempo
of ‘not my will’
