On The Wind

I am no cultivated flower
no product nor progeny
of home soil
no homecoming queen
nor conquering hero
defined
by lines made in sand
nations of the moment

my seed was born wild and
carried on the wind
sprouted crossing seas and
storms of intimate darkness
roots reaching somewhere
just beyond the moment
somewhere between the atoms

I will touch lightly the lands
I light upon
rest sweetly a moment on the
breast of the mother
seeking all my days her
secret and sacred spaces

to birth myself again and again
until my robes shred and
fly on the wind like the
fading coloured prayer flags
on a distant high plateau