Every so often the artificial lights  
choke back enough darkness
that I see the stars. only then do I hear
the distance of our whispers, as I
waltz hand-in-hand with echoes
of those who were guided by constellations.
those days, I feel the roots from which my feet grow
those days, I hunger for soil.
and when the moon pulls me back to the trees,
I fall from my suffocating hands into the
arms of the land and she sings me to sleep - I
live in a dream, where my definition blurs until
I breathe in the sky and it breathes in me, as
I find my fingerprint in unfamiliar flowers.
the earth welcomes me home
but I don’t remember how to say hello
so I call for words to ghosts, and
feel for letters etched in patient bones
with the sprouts of an ancient longing,