There are lifelines on the faces of leaves
tiny lacy lines of clear and flowing life
life that has no major meaning;
so it leans easily into the moment of itself
soft green self without a need to be seen
soft and lacy self without seeds
bejeweled with beads of dew.
 
It is the miniature story of me and you
when we were laid in the redness of womb
still no needs, no mind;
no "once upon a time" had begun our separation.
 
There in the blush of life,
we were simply joined and within,
within water within air within fire and earth ,
spinning one way and another, suspended,
no up, no down, no falling,  
no calling out for a name to all this wonder,
simply  becoming
simply seeing and being
simply life beginning.