When I see the dancing of the green
in the azure winds of Summer,
I long to be that thing,
wanton in its abandon to the will
of Him who speaks to it
but not to me.

And when I hear the woodwind call to flight
and I cannot ascend,
I ache with the rejection given me
by those of wing who hurry where they must
and ask not why.

When the earth impales me
and then sets all around for me to see -
the explosion of its heart
in light and sound,
in water, color, winds and seas of epic activity -
I know my state.

Were I as I should be
I would be they
who spring forever from the hills,
who tumble through the winds,
who know the language of the Silent One
and who obey.