Share one out quick

days with an aching stomach -

the maw in our bucket is fear, dear Liza.

How can this be?

The lot of slippery, same-old, insane

- fisted against evolving - 

shoves again to the point.

They are ready, aiming, set to fire

on everyone!  

Who am I?

Who do my children see that I am?

Friends, who are you?

Are we to do nothing?

Together, a sea of daffodils, snug

in winter’s layered ground, preparing.

Some know we will unfurl again, 

affirm what we believe -

          flight is inevitable.

We see in our sights our practice

to see the other growing, to grow

alongside, to feel the depths where

         we have come from.

Time is distance -

This garden woven of leaf and sun,

rain and breeze, hands to ground,

          baskets of flowers and greens.