bOdy

In water pulled from aquifers muddy lineage
i marvel at nails planted upon the tops of toes
incapable of suction, grappling gecko-like to the brick of things
legs skinny and ill-suited for withstanding years of running, leaping & kneeling
upon alters thick with the incense & faith of the night
pages tuned & burned by use & hope
veins deep & raised - swelling to allow the pulse & rhythm of blood :
copper & crimson
hands small, and clumsy
ill-suited for holding onto things
our fist of heart - fragile & transient
veiled in the alkaloids of red clay & garden beds
yet down our spine runs the Milky Way . . .
vast & hydrogen-starred
white phosphorus
incapable of remembering the hollow rattle of bones
and the songs of larks . .