The sun we see is a golden ring
Marries the breeze to our skin
The lay of our lives, the lay of the land
The lie of my head in the palm of your hand
The sound of the wood is shaking in me, the sound of the wood is in me
The restless body is a ghost we leave
For the clutch of the earth, its cosmos of seeds
An ovenbird, a jam jar, terrarium gold
The forest is blushing, the flush of my throat
The sound of the wood is shaking in me, the sound of the wood is in me
"The soul is a bride"
You and I are the loam, you and I are the floor
You and I are the thread trailing thin through ether, moss, and core