All these years I was
waiting for God
to move in me
until I took flight,
was pollen, was rough seed
tossed by wind,
carried on bee underbellies,
until I was part of the circle
that holds everything,
waiting
until I took root.
Here, I am stamen, pistil, stem,
petal unfurling, azalea,
white mass of flowers
fragrant under the moon
and thinking of home.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 14, Issue 1.
