First let your mutable body
lie down in some untamed place,
let it find an imprint among
the dirt, the ants, and the grass,
knowing that it knows how
to return to this womb of its
own accord. Knowing that
it knows the grass like
the skin of a lover, softer
than suede, damp with
earth’s excitement at the
sun’s dewy blessing. Now
let your fingers trace the
braille bark of a branch,
let the feel of the warm
wood under your touch
tell you what it is
to be embodied. Lie still,
understanding that one day,
the earth will hold you closer
than your own skin, knowing
that this is not that day.
