I honor the Force who/that sowed the seed which became me. In degrees though often unaware, I have grown

          from rumblings a sprout answers to a name

Lashed by winds, bathed by rains, kissed by moonrise, swaddled by fog, cradled by dawns, how can I be less than a song

          the knowing sky neither eye nor lips

They say I leave footprints, scents, echoes, a ghost prowling with the fox for a lair, yet no one says my name

          for every mute wind a foghorn

If, at all, you pine for me, feel your breast throttle

          pulling down the sky a tipped moon  

And on folded knees wait