Maturation

I used to think of you as water

Rushing 
on your way to

Some wet function

Salt water

A composted organism

Then I reckoned you as air – free and meandering

I’ve yet to see you rooted anywhere

Your roots reach upside down for sky

And particles of cosmic funk

You are acrylic music making your way

Without drying – dancing your story without ink

You’d phone from wind

To tell me you were blowing in it

I rested between your gypsy paragraphs

Waiting for my cue 

I’d gasp

Before sucking up whatever was available

Exploiting a sense of urgency like time running

On a clock with only a second hand

And daily issues running too - like out

Like rhythm

I’m learning to love without habit

To see without judgment

And listen without

Needing to agree or understand