To feel alive
sacrum deep
coccyx deep
to let the grass
imprint your skin
ingeniously
without care
to lose these words
and every other
to the net
of the heavens
and not to mind
to feel safe
unspeaking
the name of that
which lives inside
to feel the planets
shift in your arms
and the time of your childhood
cast off its shroud and
stretch and settle
in this day
with its warmth
and suns and superabundance
realigning the now
of this place
with then–but
do not dig for that
first curled thing
to be aware of the pact
between the made
and the given
to be unfearful of the given
and not shirk from its
abject clothes and demands
These steps go unrecorded
a dip in the knee
a sweep of self-embrace
and follow loss
as surely and gravely
as a well loosed arrow