the valley below

black earth again, dear polyvinyl ground
my sticky firm dense heavy cell; as i ally
orthogonally wooden floorboards by
corners, lines matching lines before i begin

one week today since my last vinyasa
marks doubt, unsteady shakes from atrophy
least progress lost, the war postponed, disowned
like how to trust what grows out from under me

sunlight lemon on the grass, and cedar trees
are spirits in the haze of muscles memory
the distant greys, the vagus nerve, drishti
oh cave of susceptivity; go eyes, under skin

at distance they behold a cunning henge
never a sur disdains from calling out to me
the greening herb grows vivid on the verge
the plantar fascia curl to meet some solid life

in place, half-driven, half-reined, half-spark and half-
holding, i part, expose the seam between
the licking flame and tucking in the hem
of wilderness accounted for, enfolding or

away; my mountains weight of carbon presses light
through floss; down wayfinding impression-meshed
sensation of the sedimentary stone
by layers etching bone, wind, ocean, fire

and fury, glass gash obsidian; if you forget
the trembling earth is always giving birth
at core, the organs fluctuating sphere
the planetary pliable and fevers warmer door

no body no container without change
resistance treasures injury, the palm-press grain
desires engined ecstasy, ankle
of metaphor into the metabolic storm

a molecule descends its tap root; bowl, pelvic
electrifies the spinal flange to polarize
and draw the reins until weather turns self-strange
and tether twists, deranged; the synapse snaps

the white orbs of a nightmares rolling eyes
charred thunder muscled under the stringent seat
and faith is endless as pure body knows
who bites and remakes wretch into the mouthful

full dark full rain full speed full poetry
eleven if, and, in charges difference of the same
an arrow born mid-air is garden, regained
the static swallowed appetite of living hell

the globe interns red-ratioed rectangle
by burning every name is regrown mane
true mother, riding form as i hair-string the bow
whose shrieking womb my practice bends to tame

to time; the shadow letting tide, what, die-cut
by horizontal held; my cradle hard
harped infant of vacationing; and tempest swept
as sea refills the valley with somnambulent sanity

//