Imagining ourselves to be unlovable,
Knowing not our own expansive brilliance,
We swallow our own light
and hide in shadows of our own making.
Like a foot longing to be a fingertip,
And, at what cost? As we tumble up the first stair to the coffee joint..
How could the nose yearn
for the gifts of the ear
when perfumed steam from a cup of espresso visits
on its way to meet ether,
or when resting on the hair at the temple of our lover,
or sitting with a new book, cracking it to page one?
Had coyote visited but once before sunrise,
the turning of its rounded, black-tipped furry tail
would not have been paired
with a seated yawn-
a send-off into the riches of day.
Sometimes we like blindness
for its familiarity, yet
settling for impersonations of ourselves
robs this life of the jewel we each are birthed to be.
Let us take the hand offered,
Enjoy coyote’s satisfied yawn, and
Erupt with a giggle at each reminder to stretch
into the Sequoian grandeur
of simply being.