No Stone Goes Unturned

I watch
and I know it isn't only watching.

You bloom each day;

Petals unfolding their blossom, their sweetness
like my son opening his morning eyes,
like my beloved giving up each moment.

To what do I owe such grace?

Shankars musical mantras drone ancient tones,
drowning out my modern mind and
I listen
yet I know it isn't merely listening.

You speak to me each day;

Thunder shaking the tree to the root
like my sons new tongue finding its will to shake people in his life,
like my beloved needs to love me to the bone.

When my heart is a stone with
You no stone goes unturned.

Turn me until I am worn to dust,
cleaving to the roots of another effortlessly
the source from which all petals unfold to another
generation.