Resurrection

Let me inhabit this planet as the Wind.

I want to marry the Snow and blanket the world with our blown kisses;

I want to recline lazily on hammocks made of marshmallow clouds and loll across green fields;

I want my screams to rip roofs off of buildings and make walls weightless;

I want to sculpt tornadoes in the cup of my hands, using the Bible Belt as my potter’s wheel so I may sweep out ignorance one town at a time;

I want to passionately undulate with the sea underneath sheets of erotic stars, impelling even the largest of creatures into the abyss so they may escape the recklessness of our love-making;

I want to carry birds on the tip of my finger like an eyelash waiting for a wish;

I want to schlep the sands of ancient civilizations across continents and with them pepper the windowsills of busy cities;

I want to be the breeze that tickles kites across the sky and introduces children to the sweet smell of lilac;

I want to be the exhalation that captures prayers of gratitude, ululations of despair, and whispers of a dying breath, lifting them to the heavens and laying them at the feet of vacant gods;

I want to orchestrate music with the rain while the trees pirouette, keeping their limbs agile in the hips;

I want to be the coolness that soothes the sweat on your burning neck;

I want to toss waves into cliffs like chairs being crushed in bar room brawls.

If I cannot become nonexistent and rest in the silence of nothingness,
Then at least grant me the experience of being boundless to either time or body
And carry on in the form of unbridled liberation,
So I may never know the prison of hope or memory again.

©Mayme Snow 2016