I want to know the source of your courage,
the way you smile,
the way you cry.
Is it like wind over a Kingfisher’s face when he dives,
never leaving his target?
Or perhaps the thin tether of a stem,
allowing the leaf to throw open its variegated belly
laughing in the twirling silver-green splash?
Or is it as simple as water over scales,
and never asking a question like
“what does wet mean?”
Maybe the question has as many answers
as this first Holy Book called nature,
but still, I root always
in curiosity when