Seeding ideas
somewhere in dream earth they grow into the trees that
my hands touch grow into the children from
the dream earth saying
‘give birth to me into your writing territory the territory
where there are no borders only the
deep ocean that you might not be able to breathe in
if you dive too far or the sky you can’t move
in due to gravity and a lack of wings.’
Hands, feet what do they do
do you know in the womb before you walk on the earth or are they
mysteries
I dig for my identity in the myths in
the stories in the dream of the earth’s birth
evolving, into the writer
who dreams of the hands and feet
formed in the clay on the mountain
seeing the story woven in the field
There is no territory you can’t dream
even the ocean deep
or the sky high flying in the dream sky
I throw up the ashes of grief
for the seed of the story
and I dream
© June Perkins all rights reserved, words and images
Ripple Poetry 