The Fruit of My Lips

The fruit of my lips

is belly deep,

roots grown 

into my toes

from the source,

ripe and bursting

from my middle.

You are sky and all the universe,

the Hand that planted 

these stars,

and I am but a sapling

blown cold in earth’s

strong wind.

But still, you caress

each of my flowers

like words bursting

through air.