Driving North on Highway 1 at Twilight


Mom, I’m coming home.
I haven’t seen you in years.
The worry on your face
Is all I remember.
I left because
I needed to know
Who I am,
To find the origins
Of my consciousness.
I’m coming home
With answers.

I’ve found that I can talk
With birds, that I can listen
To the chemistry of mushrooms,
That the deer don’t mind me
When I’m one with them.
Breathing the smells of soil after rain,
I’ve discovered the language forests speak,
The tones of their green tongues.
When the frogs sing at night,
I become a frog.
When fox prances on rabbit,
I become both.
My arms and legs and organs
Are extensions of their intentions.
I’ve found meaning in the falling of a leaf.
I’ve found a lifetime in the sounds of a waterfall.

I’ve discovered a great sadness too.
Walking into any room, I see humans
Who think they are non-animals.
No one understands me anymore.
When I marvel at the spider’s web,
Someone brings a broom.
When I share a joke my deer
Buddies would understand,
People stare at me
Like I’m two bright headlights.
When I gather dead insects in jars,
All the women run away.
I once asked a bartender
Did you know we are 50% banana,
60% chicken, and 80% cow
by DNA?
To which he replied,
Ummm… an IPA?
I’ve become lonely, and it’s alright.
Soon I’ll be home with you.

Siri, end message and send.

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