Words

I guess I want to leave you with words,
words scrawled on index cards
and hidden in your fruit bowl,
words, pages deep, bound and hardbacked,
electric words that I can hurl across the world
to light up your screen.
And I won’t give you just any words;
I’ll choose them with care
and send words of your courageous embodiedness,
and the way you walk is making you a universe,
and the steps won’t mend you,
but mountaintop views, after all that climbing, will,
because beauty has healing hands.
And trees are what my prayers look like,
hope-leaves reaching for the sun,
bone-dry bark wondering if it’s being heard,
somewhere-deep roots that know it is.
Take these words with you
to open skies, deserts, and hills,
take them to the streams and the rain.
Don’t be shy either; teach them to the birds.

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