I was born of the sun.
Blooming in rays of objection, with a mouth full of fortitude on a mangling fork.
Hands cupped together to drink the magnetic constants as I stood in a sea of sounds, soaking in the sonoluminescence.
Waiting for the ingress to connect stars to pull me with the waves.
In solitude I’ve sprouted seeds.
No further apart than my liberated fingers can swing from.
In fulfilling disasters the seeds tie their roots together in knots too tight to untangle.
It’s here that I grow.
Where I shoveled the dirt beneath me to see if I would sink.
Where I shoveled the dirt above me to see if I would relent.
Where I drowned myself to learn sensibility, and where I suffered droughts just to see if I could still bud after the disparagement.
Today I face the sun
Cheeks dewed with beads of astral enlightenment.
Ascending to freedom, surrounded by flowers.
It’s here that I am congruent.
From a diapason my final petal falls releasing my soul seeds into a beribboned bassinet below.
It’s here that they will grow.
It’s here where they will face the sun.
It’s here they will become congruent.
It’s here we will sustain the garden.