Animus

When I call for Mother the breeze responds,

with the passing brush of a tree branch on her way.

“Let yourself become” she says.

My shoulders carry boulders nestled in my collarbones,

this vessel built to carry the world.

“You must become” she says.

My spirit howls through tree branches,

grabbing the air like child’s hands.

I call for Mother, and my echo responds.

“Let yourself become.” I say.