Water flows in streams of dreams
back to springs emerging from the earth,
in the high mountains where I lay,
the membrane cloaking me,
shielded by the water in her womb,
emerging with a cosmic surge,
my beginning, water turned to blood.
November chill touched steam from
my warm body ascending to the sky,
fell, wrapping me in snow.
Now, a lifetime trickled away,
I can hear a rippling
beneath a blanket over ice,
life on the underside of death,
of what is stilled and hushed,
revived again when kissed by sunlight,
melts the frozen harmonies.
Here, a motion unrestrained,
life with rush and spray, moving
with the river to the sea.
There the melding of my ripple
in the universal soul.
Who will find me in that mass identity;
in the oceanic blending who will call
my name, that I may answer?
From my birth my soul emerged,
unique from wearing down the stones,
moving with relentless floods,
attached, yet unattached.
Has it added or subtracted,
in the course that I have run
has my character been formed,
my self intact from my beginning?
I must return, like a salmon taste
the water first to touch its gills,
find my way to spring fed
streams where I was spawned.
I am swimming back beneath a blanket over ice,
from the sea of souls commingled, I've emerged,
my eyes fixed upward, looking for the light,
back-tracing through a cold November.
The membrane broken after birth,
on my face I feel the touch of snow,
the smell of amniotic fluid turned to steam
rising to the sky.