Walk

Walking through the weeds,
a whisper in the air of past lives,
of all I thought life should be,
and it fades away in the distant sky
and the sun lets go
and a gaggle of geese go by,
shaping the V that
my splayed fingers make,
my arms ready for an embrace,
my legs holding a lover,
and parting the grass as I stride by,
and I realize, there were
no real answers to find, the secrets,
always visible to the eye,
watching the bee at his work,
the wings of the hummingbird,
the darkening of the sky
as the clouds gather,
this fortress was man made,
it is not I, I am that tree,
that cricket hum,
that soil beneath,
that drum of rain drops,
it is I.