People become trees and stones

There are moments in time
When people stop being people
And instead become trees or stones.
A man fishing across the lake
stirs the water with one thin stroke.
A mountain's clarity sings like a bell
when on one else is listening.
The boulders at the edge of my canoe
Are hungry for a story,
one that is true this time.
This story--my story--
does not have a name, but a shape.
It has a body and breath
moving closer and farther at the same time.
There is no cavity in my body
that does not want to be filled with landscape, water, air, earth.
Elemental fantasies cling to my toes.
I remember being swathed in wilderness
Below stars
Above sky reflected in water.
I remember how I am here.
I remember the visceral touch,
The bone-edging memory
instilled in me through flesh.
O heartbeating drum,
Innocent one,
Little bird birthed from stone,
It is hardly a new beginning
without some taste of emptiness.
I forgot how to cry,
I stood shunned by nothing
escaping judgement
to lie under the sand with stem and leaf protruding.
Supposedly I know something,
A thousand untamed galaxies in my eyes.
Away from here into tomorrow,
Into yesterday,
Remembering a dream not long forgotten.
Standing on a float suspended over sea and air
Growing roots to a floor I remember
from long ago in a lullaby.
A morning song invited in
Opening up to twilight
Or dawn.