The blood that runs through me
Running deep,
Through every artery

When he speaks, I hear me
The silent scream of humility,
The whisper of sensitivity.
Passion, curiosity,
Refusing complexity;
I know he wonders great mysteries:
What is this, what are we?

He is the tree
I am the fruit...
His father the roots.

I am his blood, he is me

We are one,
Traveling different possibilities
Roles reversing
Floating the same sea.

He is my maker,
I must be his keeper

My fathers blood runs free.