she sits

she sits on the stone wall
in front of the moss
in front of the ferns
and the heather
and takes me in
with eyes wide enough
to swallow the air
which quivers in
our suspended gaze
so wise
so small
so knowing

to reach out my arms
is futile
pride fills her
arching back
and rounded belly
she will not
be bidden

i wait
taking in her
her delicate
so keen
i fill
with wonder
and delight
and some trepidation

trusting me
she slips
from her perch
and slips
to perch
on my lap

slight head grazing
my heart
i hold her
no grasping
to break the
fine pulsing
between us
we look
toward the bit
of forest
moss and heather

gently breathing
my chest
burgeons with
in quietude
this transient
of wholeness

This entry was posted in birth, boundaries, breath, communication, connection, healing, identity, poetry, reflection, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s