I see myself in the stream up the mountain behind the log cabin in the
drenched living woods of the Northwest.
I see myself in the standing wheat, long and perfectly even like matchsticks.
The wheat becomes waves and I am both Midwest and west coast.
I am warm wind and misty rain.
I am the storm clouds brewing 100 miles in the distance but seen from the freshly planted snap pea garden on the edges of my uncle’s farm.
I see myself at the podium,
a lectern of waiting hopes that young minds would open and blossom.
A seed, a stalk, a leaf, a bud, an idea.
I speak and hope they listen with souls ready
to wonder anew.
I see myself in the pews, asleep as a child.
Second-home comforted by my parents loving voices
in tune and tuning,
I am loved there in stained glass sun glow. I know.
I see myself in my dreams,
fighting tigers of suggestion,
praying in the night,
resting into the overstuffed armchairs to exhale it onto blank pages.
I see myself in characters I write, in stories come to life.
I see myself in you,
though you don’t know it.
a sea between us,
the land etched with words in sand getting carried away.
Yet you feel and I feel.
I wear you on my heart, so don’t let go.
that you are loved and seen in me.