I let you go
as ash falls away and
your Phoenix wings spread
in the colours of fire.
I let you go
as you taste smokeless
air as you dance,
curl, somersault
in the breeze.
I let you go
to beat your wings
to the drum of the Earth,
to swoop low
and hear
the rhythm of the trees.
I let you go
to watch your
reflection soar,
to gaze in the still
lake and
know your flames.
I let you go,
and then,
that day you come back,
I will open,
the hearth to your fire.
Humans turn
the wheel,
the grind,
for money,
for status,
and then
there are those who feed the birds.
For every computer-slave
asked to do more,
hunched and typing,
output only,
there is a yogi
unbending bends,
softening shoulders,
connecting us with breath.
This morning,
thousands of birds sang
prayers to the sun.
Those who fed them heard
their names sung out
in celebration.
She knows how insects feel;
“Companion plants” (not weeds)-
They are welcome.
Trees are the ultimate creation:
Bold and firm, yet flowing high up
Their branches in the wind;
And talking with their neighbours
Low down in the rhizomes;
The “plant empath” talks back. She climbs
for like all of us
She is just a monkey-type mammal.
“Anything that happens
To us is meaningful.
Anything the birds do is for play.
Our guts recognise the 10,000 year old grains.
The seeds are alive!”
“Plant Empath” is written by the perceptive and talented Arwen.
Inky Cat's Poems 