My Parents

My parents come alive, shaking down the trees
and stomping barefoot in the good black earth,
making love like heat lighting stretched between clouds.
I am glad to be theirs, their soul, their flesh,
little pieces of them in everything around me,
in the cores of every bear and bird and human being
and bud not yet ready to begin.
There is a continuity, a communion.
I belong.
I feel the winds of my parents' dancing and I know
that the music in me was theirs.
All of me,
the dancer, the dreamer, the lover,
the calm sky watcher,
are slivers of divinity.
And I,
as I dance and dream and love
and turn my eyes starward,
am divine.