Somewhere between biting my lip
and letting it slip,
there’s a crypt;
not of the dead,
but of the buried.

I'd like to dust off each memory
and carefully adorn myself with it lovingly;
for I’ve been a bit too mean
in needing to hide so many things.

Instead of rooting deep and planting a tree,
I’ve been drifting like a tumbleweed.

I collect more and more in my tumbling thorns.
It’s time I ground a little more.

So, from now on,
in that space between,
I want to share the whole of Earth I’ve seen;
not rushed, not quietly,
but deliberately,
so it’s really me.