I Am

I am growing rings. Each fine line

found on the backs of my hands

and around my eyes tell a story,

as a tree trunk that is opened to the wind,

is counting years.

Flowers bloom and are gone,

food for the thoughts of future

blooms. Mine is a restless seed

that will wind its way into the root

of some new vine.

Beneath the soil there are voices

that await your footsteps. They lay

silent until you bend your ear to

the ground and mingle your breath

with their souls.

My story is yours. The wells

you draw from - this water trickles

in, drawn from the ground in which I lie.

You are fed from the stream that runs

over these bones.

When it is very quiet, I go

outside to look at the stars.

These are the same ancient

eyes that have looked over all of us,

even when the sun makes them,

as I, invisible.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

those below ground wait for us...the rings multiply, we grow older, wiser, stronger and then we start to wilt, to weaken...it is the cycle of life and death....and there have been so many years of it, and yet those stars have seen it all...