If I am to say who I am
Let me speak to that which forms me

I choose first to unfurl as the potent flower
a bright identity in the savage garden.
I am the fire of colour. The spectrum and the extraordinary.
For planting, my feet flow deep with sap
and the hungry root takes me down.

Next I break as many waves
Transient currents run unchecked
Fish croon with open mouths the stories I am wound up in
And bare my silver belly wherein the fisher king embeds his gutting knife.

To transform now I am made of sodden loams and grains that once were mountains
Glorious crested tributes made majestic by countless setting suns.
I am sediments and soils on sandy shores.
Roman, Grecian, Chinese nations,  Iroquois and Sioux all make me
My earth is firm. My gravity made for weathering.

Soon I am air and cloud.
Feminine mist timid and fresh as candle fire.
Yet swift and dangerous if called to harry a storm built purpose.
I am the first and the last breath. I am the sigh that carries generations.
Onward, present, bending, softening, opening, ripening into and away from form.