Sinaloa With Our Ears To The Soil
we held secrets here. this nest, these four walls. thin
enough to whisper through. tiny ones often construct
through sticks and findings. down this trunk, through
branches, from branch to branch in which we inhabited in
different years. if you trace this back, study the
markings, ones left by all here, if you look deep inside
you can see them. you can feel them day to day. years
pass, this nest deserted. removed or perhaps inhabited by
others and all disperse, scatter like seeds on soil. and
look again - roots withstanding that have seen them come
and go, that entangle and connect from the smallest
buried deep to those sprouting out, hands trace the
history. through storms and stress, growth and giving,
young sapling how we began, how we begin. if you listen
closely you can hear life in this, breath and beating.
