I want to be the blade of grass
in the dew-damp pasture gleaming
beneath a full white moon.
I want to be the floating mist that
embraces the blade of grass and
grows up to be a cloud.
I want to be the twig that represents
security to a bird seeking an anchor
for its hanging teacup nest.
I want to be the fluttery leaf that
shades the avian nursery and
drifts, spent and withered, to the ground.
I want to be the pollen collected
from a guava flower on the
fuzzy back legs of a bee.
I want to be the breeze that
caresses the flower, inviting a swarm of
bees to partake in the feast.
I want to be returned to my kinfolk,
reunited with my clan, restored to the
center, woven back into the web.
I want to be reconnected to all that
is my birthright — a being
born of stardust and bacterial genes.