I have spent so much for this shell,
this seed casing,
and then, safely contained,
strained at the walls of my tomb,
while inside this little shell
is the living I AM.
Beneath the stone
is the light.
The little green leaves unfolding
on the forest floor
in their unfurling are nothing
like the seed.
Let me die—my little one, my “me”—
and in death emerge into life,
into you, the wholeness of you,
the river of you, never unflowing,
one with this earth and its breathing,
its wind and tide and seasons,
these creatures who know me,
these stars who sing my name,
and my sisters and brothers,
my other selves
in this risen life,
no longer grains but bread.
May 15, 2017