I see the grass pushing
through layers of darkness
rising, rising, always rising
and at its very peak,
as if suddenly tired,
falling back to the ground.

I see the fern unfolding
in an eternal spiral
fragile, yet curious
until fully open, ever expansive.
With open arms, it dies
softly embraced by the ground.

I see the sun set,
the Earth rotate,
and galaxies spiral.
Was I ever asked to participate
in this dance of creation?
Did I say yes? I wonder.

If I embark on this dance,
how can I rise with grace
in all my beauty?
Like the fern and the grass
until the soil
catches my final fall?