I wake in the belly of a poem. Wading into watercolor And a twisting labyrinth Of Boston ivy. I can't see through this fog But it can see through me. Words like pollen glide On the wind and Guide me like fireflies to A sanctuary of wildflowers. Here, everything speaks To me, fluent in my native tongue. Inhale, exhale, repeat until there's peace. Bonsai at my feet as if My toes are whispering to the roots: "Grow, blossom, thrive", And I will learn to Take my own advice.