cord

Lying on my back, the sky looks like a habitat for seahorses. Lying on my stomach, the grass grows galaxies. Lying to myself, I say I don't need either. The truth, however, is that if I don't swim in this space, I will drown daily. If I don't have dirt under my nails by the time I crawl into my own flower bed, then I have failed.

I have plans to seduce you. First I'll take your celestial body out to dinner. If all goes well with our feast of moon cheese and moon Merlot, I'll invite you down to my place while I slip into something more comfortable. But I know I know I know, you go ahead and stay up there. You are solitary by nature and I am, too. We'll keep our dark sides hidden. Your returning glow is good enough for me.

So I stay here. This is my place. I sink into the sky and rise through the soil, all the while remaining attached to an umbilical cord of stories and myths I've been knitting throughout my life. My connection could hold up mountains.

Let my hands continually listen to the heartbeat of the land.