I’d like

To meet someone who

hasn’t let the world

rub the wonder off them,

a person whose mind is

neighborly with my own,

someone who knows how

to drink up sound, a

woman who’s eyes are

filled with the depths

of her, someone whose

life is sunlight touching

crystal prism, thousands

of images flying wild

into the world, a writer

who’s become the stories

he’s told, an archeologist of

mourning, a digger of first things,

a man who carries inside himself

the silences of his father

and doesn’t mind,

a storyteller whose words

throw sparks from every

thing they touch, who’s able

to cry all the tears I can’t,

a person whose thoughts don’t

smell musty, someone who’s

heard the land sing to itself

late in the night

when the Pleiades rise

above the dark mountains, a

person whose feelings

bear witness to what the

world’s telling them, some

one who’s willing to be innocent over and

over again, and thinks it

would be a good thing

to love me.

Becoming Vegetalista; My Initiation and Apprenticeship with the Plant Nations of Earth; Stephen Harrod Buhner,