At last

At last I knew what the oak tree knows.
My blood ran slower, my hair fell lankier
and as the flowers in my basket withered,
happiness spilled out, fell from my eyes like acorns.

My hunger ebbed away, my throat tightened,
my body lifted and grew upwards
in search for the light,
loneliness was no more.

I learned to branch out into green shelters,
read the chakras of birdsong
and the tarot of leaves
against the drifting clouds.

I was there for my husband still
to melt his tears in the touch of memories
but my heart curled beneath,
where the dead whisper and console.

I live like this now, my marriage elongated
and bent as a peacock tail,
above, the clouded sky of my life,
where the wind sings of forgiveness.

With its echoing sound, I reach downwards,
the silent ground feels soft like homecoming,
a womb opening up
with the promise of sanctum, rebirth.