Wishful daydreaming about sinking into the earth. When I’m stressed, I imagine water running through my body, through my brain, cooling all the wrinkled, throbbing lobes, washing all the toxins out. Sometimes it helps.
I want to get down on my hands and knees,
feel the earth between my fingers sink in,
clots of soil penetrating the skin,
pulling me down to the roots of the tree.
If you want water, then water I’ll be,
climb the stair of your veins up to the sky
repudiate the enemy called “I”
let the thirst that drank the world drink me.
The earth ripples where each root plunges in
and around the place my head disappeared –
now it’s I who penetrates the earth’s skin.
It’s nothing like dissolving, like I feared
no need for either one of us to win,
just swallow me down for another year.