Growing Through the Cracks

My lips kiss the ground,
tasting soil and metal,
grateful for today
and all of the earthly tomorrows
to follow.

Bronzed and smooth,
spirit cascades,
shimmies down the slide,
knowing the sacredness of each moment,
each hour that comes and goes
so swiftly.
Ephemeral treasures
inhabit the mind,
sitting on our shoulders,
praying at our feet.

I gallop to catch up,
the self a distant field
where I can see and taste dandelions,
refuse to tamp them down,
refuse to let them be pulled,
knowing that I am worthy,
a weed growing through the cracks,
thriving, despite myself.