She was the manifestation of underground roots,
Those seldom seen from which such gift can be given, bronze skin.
Her hair symbolized what I felt as our eyes connected.
Her voice lifted my spirit higher than it's ever been.
Without anything to return, How do I reciprocate such a gift.
A thank you would hardly do justice.

Where has this been all of my life, her- using my hands as a vase to convene.

Hearing her voice blossom from the bud of where I stood.

A question that went in silence.

For the light that shines bright inside her blocks out that of the sun.

A space free to fill with what you please.

These are the words I pictured her telling me.

Over and over again until I was full enough to be tilted over and water her just

as shes watered me.

The root that no one remembers to water