tiny piece of lint
was my imprint at birth.
She named me
the most insignificant piece
of it... the lint in the corner of your pocket.

held close, near the warmth of the thigh.
secure, protected.
little piece of lint.

the challenge with it
is that I have always felt it.
insignificant.
humility has been my blanket.
it has protected me from the
fingers reaching in to grab hold
of coins and other pocket stuff.
that dark corner down there,
where the blue piece of lint rests.
wash after wash, the water only
beats it.
forms a perfect ball. the sides never
stop. the cycles maintain.

the challenge is I still feel this.
insignificant.
I always will.
I see what I am a part of.
I feel the magic of it.
that background buzz, humming...
yes..... I hear it.
my perspective just one tiny
bit of it. little pocket lint.

significance rests there.
in each piece of it.
the wind only exists
because of the other tiny bits.
this is the delicate bliss.
the kiss.
this awareness.
feeding from its passion to be
because it is.
it is repetitive in nature, though
what I see is. It just is.
and it creates. it extends.

I expand into your hand
and you free me.
you release me from the dark corners
and set me free. to be la nita.
to grow by attracting energy.
with the right charge, a lint ball
can exchange electricity!

my tears burn some nights,
they purge the energy of the day.
though I was built this way,
molded and shaped for it.
flexibility to change is key,
until that day. and in between
I've now seen,
my responsibility is to just be me, my imprint.

the afternoon is settled
and the last bees are humming,
buzzing, quieter now,
from flower to flower.
less competition.

the long summer sun
has allowed them to
hum along forever it seems.
the heat grows, leaves tips droop,
and they are collecting with fervor.

their initial hunt begins
with the early rising day.
they head out over the city
in search of her milk.
her nourishing sweet life growing
milk.

the search is directed by the colors
of her display.
her richly tuned shades of violets
and yellows call them in.
they dart in and out, quickly,
focused, drawn in to dance.

that dance of her.
the one that encourages the let down.
the one that taunts the flesh.
her perfect dance.
it sends chills through my bones.

these drones fly drunkenly
by the end of the day.
they have beat their
wings against the same
pressure we feel, the same wind
we hear.

they grow weary as the sun shifts again,
we say good night, a short rest.
we process her nutrients in the dark.
quietness

the blissful kiss
of the truth
is so hard to miss.
I sit and I reminisce how divine
that moment tasted.
I ask for another drip...

the kiss, of what is,
the graceful wisp of
what is,
the golden ray beaming down.
the lighter blues hinted with
a spot light.
I sit and I remember it,
how it felt upon my lips
and how my heart ached for more.

my heart got a glimpse
of pure love, again.
I know at birth I witnessed it,
and at death, each moment in between
these, it seems to be here too.
well, I actually know it is.
I've kissed

the love of what is.
all of it.
what this is. its a pureness so few
can ignore, fewer tend
to barely hear a sound.
we are clouded by loud thoughts
and culture.
though its in every one of our
moments. this bliss

we miss it.
this fire lit in our bowels,
this passion for breath,
and ***,
and children,
and death.
we miss the nature of things
and its divine imprint on our
beings.
we miss kissing,
the faint blissfulness of what is.

the winds change
and you are suddenly
in a new day.
they just change,
and your life begins again.
behind clouds and a cold wind
you feel your bones
within. shaking.

the air shifts
and the heat of the sun is
released.
it pours down, penetrating skin
warming the core.
releasing moisture to join again.
the faint wind comes back
and brushes your hair
it slides over your chin and you
smile.
you know this is why you are alive.

she shifts so quickly sometimes,
answering prayers. clearing for the future.

ONE
Is imprinted on the back
Of a dollar bill.

The outer edges are webbed.
Trapped.

Excitement to find the hidden
Codes in the corners
During school days.
Those days of entrapment.
The slave training days.
Hey, awareness is my only
Approach
To breaking habit.

Those days, we scanned the note
Forward and backward
Looking for games.
Knowing make believe
When we see it.

Those days, when we were freer
Within,
Those days are staged with
Cob webs,
Like what do you want to be when you grow up?
And, black people were slaves.
This intricate Web so delicately
Entrapping truth,

WE are ONE.

It's the 1, the 1st, the real truth.
It's freedom, abundant love,
It's You. See WE in you.

The only work to be done,
The tribe is human.
We are scattered across our Mothers chest
She nourishes our breath.
We receive.

Those days I was imprinted with
Images of dollars in my head.
Now I prepare to break free.
Cob webs and spiders no longer
Intimidate me.
Bring it, I see. Clearly.

WE are ONE.
In WE I trust.

I want to absorb your being into me
 if I could I would
take your flesh
 your path
your journey
every moment you've seen
every inch
I am the water
 I move quickly

as I stand In this River bed
 I feel the miles of it
before this point of it.
I see the pressure
 pushed through these
rocks.
 the water moves slowly
 here
 she trickles.
though her power is not reduced
she shapes and molds
what she must.
 standing

In this Rivers bed
I feel the heat above my head
 and I feel the waves crashing
 into my mind.
The break of the waters path
As she learns to notice mine.
I AM just standing there,
And we intertwine.

as I stand In this River
I realize water moves quickly
and always cleanses in time
 percolating through the Earth
 toxins are made here too

And I'll walk the water home
back towards the Sun
 and bring my friends along
Breaking through
Time and distance

And just trusting
My song.
It's being fine tuned, the
Melody of my heart.