What Am I / Doing?

I was not born but came fully-formed, dropped as a buttonball out of a sycamore tree and plopped! Right into the green river waters where I learned the wordless language of frogs and predation and flow until I found rest at the bottom of the deep wide and slow. Now I don’t speak but look out with eyes that are not eyes straight to the coeur of you, who are everything.

When this river dries up I swear I will carry its ghost with me. I’ll carry it bones and all to your doorstep and I’ll sit until you invite us in. Take root take feather take a flight that is a falling. Into divine madness and go around again, nothing learned.