I will

pluck every grass seed from my dancing pants,

one by one.

​

I will

gift each one a breath.

 

What will remain

once the grass seeds are no longer here?

Will the fabric still hold its stories?

 

The lightness of my soul

fluttering over your shoulders?

 

The fullness of my body
wading through monsoon waters,
drenched with life?

 

Or the emptiness with which

I stepped onto the dance floor,

open

to the unexpected?

 

I will

pluck every grass seed from my dancing pants,

one by one.

 

I will

gift each one a breath,

 

and from every breath,

I will

grow a dream.