Bloom

She touched the Earth

soil crowding beneath her nails

joints folding softly into grass

and became wild.

She touched it all

flowers and herbs on her skin

hard blossoms and itchy blades

and became someone.

    She could be in this garden forever

    suspended in a sunbeam

    two guitars and a thousand voices

    the wind, the leaves, your words.

    She could sit perhaps a bit nearer

    watch your bearded face smile

    feeling like it was another hot sun

    reflecting on flushed cheeks.

She touched lips to her arms 

listening to the clouds join such chorus

whispering to the blue between

and became present.

She touched body to Earth, 

felt it undulating beneath her nails,

it crowded into her spirit, too.

And she became.