We are gardeners of each other,
tending our ground together in the smallest ways,
dusting off waxed leaves,
fawning over new growth,
adding soil to exposed roots.
Maybe souls are not a given thing
but something we conjure in each other,
from a Mothers first glance,
and the endless friendships that are the quilt of our childhoods,
to the attention of our beloved animal companions,
silent but seeing us truly, always,
and all the nectar and wounds of lustful partners that may batter us,
but also rebirth us,
making a single life into many lifetimes.
Isn’t it all conjuring soul?
My dance with you has placed me at the edge of an endless pool of being.
I waver for a moment,
before slipping in,
again.
