Rewild My Heart

The wild seed came with the wind.
It flew without wings from mountains 
and deserts, out of the mouths
of caves and bellies of bats.
I tasted it on my tongue and between 
my legs, felt it burrow in my heart.

There slept this feral germ,
plowed under by daily instrument— 
by fear and conformity. Gone
were the birds and the roaming 
beasts. Even the trees vanished.

What changed, you ask?
I received the rains, reintroduced 
loose herds of horse and boar.
I cried, inviting in snow.
When it melted, the wild mustard 
bloomed, and on it, the Island Marble 
Butterfly lay her endangered eggs.

Everything shifted. A forest grew, 
connecting the stories deep underground. 
I listened in my sleep to the nightingales 
and touched the emergence of surprise.