The same force that makes
and takes my breath away
drives the wind that lifts bright seeds
to find
the dirt and water
for the laying down of roots.
Green-sprout
Fibonacci fists
begin
to unwind
at the tip of my gaze.
I hope to never miss a blossoming
of being
eye to eye with a fern,
on a downtown street,
on a hot afternoon,
next to a puddle of horse piss.
Land of contrast,
will you call to me
when I am lost
in my pumpkin coach,
in meaningless motion –
i need for you to.
I’ll slip out this trap door
built into the floor,
and slip into fresh seeing
again.
Life as Improv 
so sweetly reminder
smells like pumpkin 🙂
pie or smashing? 🙂
i prefer pie
thanks 🙂
You just put the relationship of fiddleheads, starlight, and the empty gaze that witnesses all of creation into the proper order for me. Yes… you have clarified the inter-being blossoming mathematical trap door escape route of the heart quite nicely. You remind me that where our holy eyes rest, the soil just below becomes rambunctious. These words are themselves the call so described, the inspired freshness that was needed. Pure delight!
Michael
Michael,
I think you’ve written a tighter poem which carries the essence: fiddleheads, starlight, and the empty gaze. done and done.
I was staring so hard at the fiddlehead, I missed the rambunctious soil, but now that you mention it…of course! Maybe dark matter is at the heart of everything and when watered by focus and attention, it swells and blossoms. hmmmm. I’m enriched by your reflections and my heart swells. m