Lately I have learned the strange posture of the lover: not of one person, but of the earth itself, of every being that breathes. I walk about as though carrying a vessel full, spilling its brightness with every step. My heart rests in love, swollen with it, steady with it, as though it were some untamed light pressing gently against the walls of me. What roots are these within me, seeking soil already waiting? What seeds are these, quiet in their husks, prepared for the rain that will draw them into the air? I am crowded with beginnings, my body a greenhouse of calm abundance, my chest a window opening to its own breath.
