I want to dissolve.
I have never desired something so much as I do this morning.
But the rustling of tree branches adorned with leaves
seeps in from my window, pulling me out of bed,
and carries me out the door.
I find myself lying flat on my back on the sidewalk.
The sunlight presses down, covering my body like a weighted anxiety blanket.
The breeze whispers, gently slipping her fingers between my toes,
massaging all the tender aches and knots.
I have never felt the wind on the soles of my feet.
The mockingbird in the half-century oak
sings in a thousand years’ worth of languages,
words and symbols beyond my mind.
My skin thaws,
and I do not dissolve. I rise.