Where the rain sinks deep into the soil
and rises to the heights of a tree’s crown.
Where the breath blows dandelion seeds
into the sun, mouth merging with the wind.
There, I will meet you.
Where a mother’s lullaby finds its way
into the heart of a crying child; her song
somehow mimicking the motions of silence.
Where the clock upon the wall
that has been there since your grandfather’s
first breath, begins slowing, slowing, slowing,
more space between ticks till stillness falls
into the arms of eternity.
There, too, I will meet you.
Where a blanket is being woven high upon a hill
overlooking a valley of cream and green,
and the weaving woman stitches her sight
into the seams, the pulse of the skies set into the fabric.
Where, come winter, the weaving woman wraps
her chilled toes with a warm summer sky.
There, too.
Where the wind sends a well-read book’s water-stained pages
with the breeze and into nature’s ever-open palms,
waiting for a stranger to grab hold.
Where all at once becomes one with all,
and we rise to the heights of heights as we fall.
Where there becomes here
and our present moments merge.
Here, too, I will meet you.
Hannah Arin is a junior at Pitzer College pursuing a double major in religious studies and philosophy.
