Veins and bruises

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All veins and bruises are exposed.
Like the heart of leaves 
In the glow of afternoon sun.
The third word says of my agony.
The fourth forcibly silenced.
I live in splendid light and wind.
I am the carrier of everything
Around me and in me.
Thriving, but living in its entirety. 
I am talking too much.
Much of my psychedelic thoughts.
I am not my thoughts.
But I become what I say.
When I speak I am someone else.
I am the stem of dried leaves
Too scared of falling down!
I have tender arms
Which cling to the long lost stem.
I don't want a home in soil's bed
My spirit lives in highest branch
which almost touches the sky
I don't mind being vulnerable
I want to see evening sun 
while leaning to home-branch.
I don't want to see sun 
supine posed in the pale soil.

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