I grew, toes dipped in cold streams,
dandelion crown upon my head
black walnuts in my pocket.
My feet were not made for shoes.
I sought the hidden places,
knew the taste of lemon clover,
violet, mint, and bitter acorn
Grown, walls contain me.
In voluntary exile
I stare at walls and screens
But a sliver of blue seen through my window calls my name
I escape down dirt paths to nowhere.
Bathed is solitude
immersed in birdsong
I am renewed.
