Vine scales
shattered brick to bridge
the rooted earth to sun,
Scattering flowers,
markers on its glorious voyage.
I sense
this finely braided nerve,
this half-created, half-evolved
thing
Ringing with the pulse
and snap of all
that passes.
Delicate cells
of purest thread sewn through
and through us,
Thinnest wires wound
within us, wrought
of twisted strands of gold
and flesh.
This love
is not electric light
nor draping cables, colors tied
to emerald ropes
It is law
an act of passing
Conduction
of the fields and flows of us.
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