poem: moved

I am in the line—
The connection of ground and sky
Where rock touches vapor. My feet
Are anchored like the roots of a tree,
But my hands are the branches,
Reaching up for more. Mystery

Surrounds the security of a solid stance
I groan under the weight of gravity’s grip
Pressing me against the ground.

My eyes search the sky and questions come.
I wonder as I watch wisps of transitory cloud
Slowly shift shape and color. Then I feel a strange

Stillness suspended.
There comes a pulse:

Gentle and intense, full of comfort and strength,
Familiar and unknown. It comes
In and out, like colors of a sunset sky.

Its rhythm captivates, and freedom
Overwhelms me. I fall to my knees.
It rushes like water and seeps in
To touch roots and loosen
Dry land—I am
Moved.

Moved from my stationary spot. Moved
To believe that I must live

For more
Than what I see.

I am in the line:
My body on the ground,
My home in the sky.