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Respect Your Mother: Nature and Nurture in the Bishop’s Garden
Breath surrounds my inquiring figure-
Galvanizing luster from her content.
She’s alive, soaking in the sun’s glimmer
Dancing on her greengrass integument.
Chirp chirp caw shh her children blithely sing.
The warm cherry wind whispers back to me,
Painting my migrant skin with hints of spring.
Her solid dream land plants the why in be.
Framed by hand-shaped trees rich in rings and
Her diving fingered manifestations-
I see more than I even knew I could-
A mecca of mother’s own creations.
Framed by her divine manifestation,
I see far beyond my destination.