Link your hyphae to my fingertips
oh fungal spore, and join me
to the foot of every rooted giant;
let us make senses,
create the very fiber of nerves
that convey the essence
of what it is to feel
the ochre and mahogany,
tawny scented soil pored
between your root hairs,
the molecules of water sucked
entering every membrane,
that leavening scent of growth
and rain and sun blossoming
green in chloroplasts swimming
between every cell wall of
every leaf that uncurls toward the sun,
that saffron coated bundle of rays
emitting power beyond our imagination,
miles away from anywhere,
steaming the stomata into
supplication at its presence,
oh fungal spore, let us create
these senses and link us our
very nerves to the sun and
its bowing bending green rooted
factories, all of us respiring
and breathing, no spaces between us
save the electric spark
of God herself.