Not arrows

Blindfolded by our little stories

We roam prisoners of petty desires.

Afraid of falling, we forgot how to 

Stand on earth and roll, and slide.

But if a magic singer could make us

Move close enough to remember 

Our natural bond, then the bubble

Would be pierced, experience freed.

With many limbs and feet and arms

With many hands and heads and eyes

Reaching towards everywhere embracing

Everything touching and feeling at once.

We are not arrows flying to a target.

We are waves of light engulfing cliffs

And beaches and draining sands 

To the depths of unforeseen oceans of beauty.