We’re carving through islands,
hopping houseboats coloured
like dreams I haven’t had
All belongings underwater –
like turtles we’ve taken
the burden on our backs eagerly
for the chance to taste seawater.
The ruts in prairie fields we found
ourselves in no longer have
the traction to hold,
as we’ve traded our handfuls of mud for sand.
People don’t do this. But we are.
My skin and hair relaxes with
the wet abundance in the air,
and I feel the pause,
that intermittent fog of much-needed reprieve,
lifting at last.
All this time,
these dreams were so much closer than I thought.
I followed a trail of breadcrumbs,
held in my mouth the yeast and powdered grains
along with the curiosity, the longings, the long-time loves.
I followed yoga, robes, and the smell of incense,
chased the affections of friends I never have to run after,
the green moss of lands where life unfurls
in effortless plenty,
and landed here.
I plant myself in this rich, dark soil
and await the flowers that lay dormant within me.