if i could play your notes
in black and white keys
what songs would you sing?
if i could weave your most precious jewels
into my cloaks
or affix each one of your pearly teeth
into my smile
how then would i shine?
besides these fantasies
there lies a promise
and that promise is to plant you
over and over
like our teacher taught us to do,
with the hopeful intention of a heart's longing
to see the face of an old friend return again.
for it was under unlikely odds
and through dust that you grew --
an all too-closely planted mixture of two sacred strains and maybe a thousand more emerging
from the tiny corner of a tiny garden
so longing to be beautiful
bewildering me your novice
and from a few gifted seeds now woven
and multiplied into a mosaic
that uplifts my face of joy.
this has been a true teaching, one not found in books or schools or conversations
my first rising with your long dawn time,
my first dance with your speckled seeds,
dark and luminous
my first encounter with a People's culture
so ancient, so loving,
my first taste of harvesting and hearing
and continuing on in the fierce seedsong
stories of food, of beauty, of resilience.