Raising one hand, marvel at the mechanisms, the magic, the life-force creation here around, in soil, sun and sand.
Raise the other hand and the spirit slips through my fingers, its natural rhythm is in flight with the flocks, in tune with trance of trickling of the stream, with the whistle of the wind. It would flee from me.
Instead it is trapped, worse off than the wild mustang brought to the bit to be broken,
it is chained inside a human body,
this, this so wondrous and so futile, so fragile,
flung here to be ripped apart yet again
and in the light spilling through the gaps
to be brought to our knees to laugh, to smile, to cry again.
To gaze at ourselves now opened, perhaps more free this way, perhaps more.
The ocean’s waves next to me, the bird’s wings above, a constant reminder.
The ultimate tease.
You, there. You on the ground below with your arms raised to me.
You are everything,
I’m not mocking you.
The bird’s beak twists to the side, and says again, in animal wisdom,
you are so helpless.