A Simple Wish

You say you find happiness in the little things.
Yeah, the things they carry, the keepsakes that they bring,
in their heavy hands—their most precious things.

Oh, how clumsy I must have been,
or how little they were, or my hands too big.
I can’t carry anything—just emptiness,
or a simple wish: to fade into openness.

Or down below where the trees learn to grow,
and to remain posed.

I will crawl beneath the roots to sleep,
in the dirt way down deep,
where the sound of the world turning around,
could soothe my heart to beat.

When Spring has come I will bloom,
from the tree whose roots have become my womb,
and grow branches to give shade to you:

My patron saint, asleep in the sun.