Changing

Shifting the color of my body,

I concentrate on achieving

perfect unison

with the surrounding scenery.

My complexion alters to a vibrant yellow to blend with the daffodils.

The rest of my body intensifies –it becomes a rich green– as burly as the stems.

It is impossible to distinguish between myself and the daffodils.

I am content,

until

the Eastern Wind blows with all his might –as if to extract every being that is

R

O

O

T

E

D eep within the earth.

At first, I manage to keep up with the sudden shifts

Yellow, green, blue –my face changes– as it sees fit.

I fixate all my energy on ensuring unification with my surrounding,

(forgetting that unlike the daffodils, I am not rooted)

And as the wind’s wafts strengthen

I am elevated and separated from the garden.

Fear runs through my veins.

Insecurity encumbers me.

I am no longer one with the fair paradise.

How will survival play its part?

Then,

I see the sun.

It shines on me too –even when it has forsaken the golden daffodils.

I the Desert; He the Rain

He is the Rain; giving, fostering, and generous. I am the Desert; waiting, wanting, and yearning. I wait for him to plant a kiss upon my dry lips and foster jungles within me. I yearn for his touch, for his fingertips to tap my bare shoulders and wake me from my nightmare. I want his generosity to shower mercy on my grounds. How I wait for a sign in the clouds that announces his arrival. How I want to be ravished by his love. How I yearn for him to bring me back to Life.

The sun scorches my skin, and it continues to create more cracks on my body. The sinister sun grins at the thought of my captivity. You are my captive, she thinks. Oh how I pray that she’s wrong. If I be a captive, let me be the slave of his droplets. Let me surrender myself to the damp embraces of his cooling touch. Some days those fantasies take away from the hurt.

The moon also takes away from the blazes that pain my soul; I feel a bit more at ease when he comes around. At night the moon and I reminisce my lost joy; the joy that came along with the love-like bond the rain and I made many years ago; a bond that heat destroyed. I became weak, and could no longer afford to cultivate and nourish my greens. My weakness left no room for his existence. I was a fallen land, fallen from glory. Distance took the place of our union, and I haven’t felt him since that day. Not since the day I gave up on him ever returning to me. Impatience took over me, and I was unable to reassure my heart that he would come. I knew he existed, I had felt him touch me. His touch had renewed in me a lost element long ago. He did exist. It had just been extremely difficult to remember how his touch had made me feel. This lack of tenderness molded itself into doubt. Had I imagined him quenching my thirst? Had I imagined him giving up his life for me? I doubt that. Yet, forgetfulness has taken over, and I cannot remember anything from the times he and I shared something extraordinary. If I weren’t rooted, I would run and search the streets of heaven for him. “Where is he?” I’d ask. Where is my rescue and deliverance?

His presence is no longer a desire deep in my heart; it is a matter of necessity; of Life or Death. If I don’t feel him again, I will slowly perish.

Everywhere

In the running water of the shower
Along the lines of the Penne
Between the sheets
On the brown futon
In the flickering images on the television
Along the handle of the blue mug
Between the pages of the red book
On the kitchen counter
In the empty wine bottles
Along the edges of the puzzle pieces
Between my fingers
On my mind

You are everywhere.