On The Wind

I am no cultivated flower,
no product or progeny
of home soil,
no homecoming queen,
nor conquering hero
defined by lines
made in sand,
nations of the moment.

My seed was born wild and
carried on the wind,
sprouted crossing seas and
storms of intimate darkness,
roots reaching somewhere
just beyond the moment,
just between the atoms.

I will touch lightly
the lands I light upon,
rest sweetly a moment
on the Mother's breast,
seeking all my days her
secret and sacred places,

to birth myself again and again,
until my robes shred and fly
on the wind,
like the fading coloured
prayer flags
on a distant, high plateau.