roots curl lazily
in place of finely-spun
golden hair, buds spring
from age-lined hands
among each spider-webbed
earthy curtain; here lays each
of our bespeckled and lined
forms well hidden.
our bodies have forgotten
how to breathe without air
and drink without fresh water,
but we’re just enough connected
to question how we got here.
do not forget your divine rights:
your bark-ridden thighs and
the sun shining behind your eyes.
the ground seems very separate now
–fixation sprung away eons past–
but whisper deep within your bones
and you’ll remember what is home.