Once ungrounded,
rootless, filled with
helium, tendons unhinged,
doubts sprouting in tendril-clumps
I rooted down during my black earth days,
letting the universe spread,
emanating from my center
like panels of a fan,
mandalic panels
on which coming is going
going is coming
where every thing
shimmers and
changing currents is
as simple as selecting a paradise
as free as earth working through you
as basic as turning your cheek to the dirt
laying down the grass
signaling the clouds
and walking through aboriginal strands of time.
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