- Lorraine Johnson
That yellow leaf that falls gently, landing by your foot
new, yet familiar, as the comfort of a mother's eyes and walking barefoot
and hearts you know that hold space for you to grow
to arms we lean toward, belonging before met
in the possibility of feeling love not yet known
and hearing calls of a thousand moans
Feelings full-grown stream as a down pour
leaving marks as deep and abundant
as the flickering layers of the luster of a moonstone.
New, yet familiar, we recognize our own—
the ones that fill the heart and pull longing from your soul
turning cracks of deep loss into joy, filling you whole.
Yes the leaf falls, but the humming bird still lingers—
alone in its solitude with a fast beating heart
Perhaps it's better to be the butterfly,
not the cuttlefish showing off its bright colors
while snatching all that it likes,
as it sneaks its way into existence and thus has a short life.
Ah! but the earthworm—oh how it spends its days
quietly improving the garden for others to graze
Like the roots that carry the color of the healing chakra
—grounding the world in colors of red, brown and black.