There is a certain comfort
in the sound of trees
dancing in the breeze,
mingling their leaves,
stuck in the ground
but tasting
what it means to be free.

Billowing,
in ethereal winds,
untethered from my earthly coil.
I am cloud bursts
in concentric separation:
gossamer pulsation.

Suspended
in heaven’s piercing light,
dissipating as I capitulate,
unfurling in my flight;
to coalesce and integrate
with this splendiferous bright.

Heave, I, immense a zephyr,
pressing mine unto the grand expanse;
entranced by all that’s shifting
on the likeness of all, being,
wherein heartstrings resonate
with the vibrations of creation.