when the wind picks YOU up and spins YOU around like a sycamore seed
hold on tight to the wisps of cloud as YOU ascend above the ground
the river of sky will carry YOU downstream until YOU are above the trees
so YOU may float in the blue high enough to reach out and touch the moon
when the vines leap from the earth’s shattering crust and reach into the sky
wait and breathe in the silent dark and the whistling cry of air rushing past
until the vines release their hold and YOU float in oceanic depths of time
the bubbles of moving time a constant tick-tick as YOU lie back and sink
when the pleading cries finally reach YOU and pluck YOU from the void
allow them to lift YOU into the grass so the saplings and weeds may ask
and when YOU find YOU have no answers that can satisfy the hungry soil
then may YOU find a sycamore seed to lift up into the sky above the trees
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