I rejoice in my existence,
And what I perceive, I believe you shall perceive too,
For every particle that belongs to me also belongs to you.
I relax and beckon my spirit.
I lean and unwind at my leisure… observing a slender blade of summer grass.
Dwellings and chambers are saturated with aromas… the shelves overflow with fragrances,
I inhale the scent myself, comprehend it, and relish it.
The essence could intoxicate me as well, but I will resist its allure.
The atmosphere is not a perfume… it lacks the flavor of distillation… it is scentless.
It is perpetually meant for my consumption… I am infatuated with it.
I will wander to the streamside and reveal my true self, unabashed and bare.
I yearn for it to make contact with me.
The wisps of my own breath.
Echoes, ripples, and murmured whispers… loveroot, silkthread, intimate connection and intertwined growth.
My exhalation and inspiration… the pulsation of my heart… the flow of blood
and air through my lungs.
The scent of verdant leaves and withered foliage, of the seashore and dark-hued rocks, and of hay in the barn.
The sound of my spoken words… words set free to be carried by the currents
of the wind.
A gentle touch… a warm embrace… an encircling of arms.
The interplay of light and shadow on the trees as their supple branches sway.
The joy found in solitude or amidst the bustle of streets, or across fields and hillsides.
The sensation of vitality… the midday trill… the melody of my awakening as I rise from slumber and greet the sun.
:: 07.16.2023 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 