To my wild woman,
i feel you and i hear you.
the older i get, the louder your voice speaks to me,
drowning out the sounds of all I’ve been told to bend to like bamboo.
the older i get, the more of your bones I am pulling together,
the more of your limbs i am trying to flesh out with knowledge and risk;
“But to follow your leaning is wildness. To follow your mind’s definition of wildness is tameness.“
To my wild woman, i am reaching for you like i am reaching for the hands of god,
like an infant reaches for the breast of its mother,
like the river reaches for the swell of the sea.