Thoughts of an acorn upon waking in Spring

The breathing wind
Ripples the moist air
And ruffles leaf's smothering covering.
We stir us from under cold slumber
To warm our backs,
Face down in earth's ochre. Alone

I carry me a weighty ancestry
Yet all that is known is still my unknown.
Is it my own turn now?
Am I ready yet?
Am I?
Ready.



Taken from the collection
An ear to the earth
IV

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