Let me be the river forever creating ripples in the stillness, still in its eternal movement through a clay path.  Let me be the wind that whispers of lives past, hopes not yet lived, as my stormy fingers twine around the earth's wild curls; or let me be the heartbeat between breaths. 

Let me be the memory of seeds resting in my bones, the code buried in the hollyhock's fat black discs stacked along my spine.  Just let me be the quiet of a morning before it is kissed by the sun or touched by bird song.  I ask for nothing else; only this promise to free me from the confines of others' expectations or the sting of turning away from what is not mine.

Let me be the clean slate, the open swath of unblemished potential spread out before you like a field of grain not yet harvested or the desert monsoon, still unsure if it will rain down upon this earth or let its ripe clouds sail beyond the horizon.  Let me be the dream conjured out of lunar light shining through the crystals on your nightstand--

--and that precarious universe between sleep and wakefulness.  Let me be that moment forever distilled in human experience.