The air croons
with unspoken things,
a vast, unseen web,
like mycelium beneath the woods,
binding every breath.
The old man,
still sitting on the bench,
his eyes fixed in a cloud
a distance away,
adds to the silence shared,
a root sipping slow knowledge.
The elated dancer
spinning, a blur of motion,
releasing joy,
a spurt of pollen,
seeds carried on the wind,
to fertilize forgotten corners.
A child’s wild laughter,
a sudden burst of light,
shocks the grackles,
and radiates out,
contagiously undeniable.
The mourning widow,
a stone thrown
into a calm lake,
casts concentric circles of sorrow,
that touch distant
unseen shores.
We are not islands,
though we feel solitary,
each thought, each feeling,
a unique creature
in a linked ecosystem,
interdependent.
The sharp word,
a toxic spill,
can taint the nearby stream.
The gentle touch,
a spring rain,
nourishes the thirsty soil.
And when one heart departs,
it’s not an end, but a beginning,
a shift, a transformation,
the essence of existence
returning
to feed the earth
of what remains.
Continuous cycle,
of giving and receiving,
of blooming and fall,
the ecology of souls,
breathing in, breathing out,
now and forever.
