Lost In It

I rise from dreams of power,
a list of next steps scrawled

in my non-dominant hand
the ink fading in air.

Six feet from my head, a thrum
of hummingbird as she dares

to sip nectar. Here be monsters:
the great blue heron stalking

so close I could reach out
and scare her into that lumbering

prehistoric launch into sky.
Alone in my tiny quarters, I breathe

and take up more space

than I could

yesterday. I practice my firm
no before I am absorbed–once more

–into the tapestry of togetherness,
all the spirits and guides atwitter,

fluttering subtle and quick
messages too ephemeral for translation.

I learn through immersion
the precise entrypoint into now.

Written for the weekend writing prompt: Translation –in 115 words, and ephemeral.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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