By George Murphy
Saturday and we are lost in a sea of cherry-billows,
alone together.
We lie down, reach our roots deep, and
pour ourselves into empty space.
Soundless, bodiless, and then—
dazzling from blue to gold, the sun!
Everything leaves, pulls away,
But you’re still returning year by year
Finding yourself in bloom once again,
as you sink into the earth.
I wish you could see yourself unfurling
The way I do. Your scars wind down
to the core of the world, and suddenly burst green—
The tilt of the planet cannot faze you
your roots hold firm.
When you exhale,
The shadow of the moon is on your lips.
You have done it again—
are a reflection of a sunbeam,
a flower and a girl.