no words, just breathing

When I go outside and sit,

and am faced with such exquisiteness,

I laugh and sing and think of how,

I could ever let darkness in.

I’m the mote of dust, that Earth breathes in, and out

what a crime to call us separate!

I try and write about what I’m made to feel,

but I’m always struck by the ineptitude.

Of both my brain and its words, so ill suited to the task.

I’m grasping for words that don’t yet exist,

although I know their taste and glory.

In color, in motion, in cyclical life, perhaps one day I will find them.

Perhaps one day I’ll sing the songs of birds in human tongues,

and sway dancing with the trees.

As much as I yearn for that day of days, at my core I know I’m content.

To sit and see and breathe in time,

With the Earth and her beauty, so exquisite.