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.