I see myself
in the leaf lapping up the first cries
of nascent sun waves
when the celestial inhabitants
print fresh footsteps on the
in the water drops chronicling the story
of a new protagonist on the bare ground,
in breaths tapping the shoulders
of stranger breaths
hugging them in edenic embrace,
in the hum of quotidian conversations
wrapping solitary echoing words
with familial buffers.
Life is but a history entwined
in the future of moonlit tree roots.