IWNHM/IWNHO: Bone

I am the land and the land is me. I keep coming back to the old places to remind myself that my pieces, my bones, my blood, my sands and salt and winds and waters, are all still there.

I think I might write words in my sleep. I wake up sometimes and they have just grown there.

Fires, the universe does not have its iron center,
my sundial leg shouts the pass
of the sun, ditching time fro and back,
the to and the fro time telescoping days,
the taste of building blocks,
then scent of youth,
tanned skin,
snow,
an inner touch of crumbled
bone and dirt,
syrupy kisses, stables, fry bread, juniper;
who moves in the damp forest?
who walks with full silent steps on twig
snaps flush down with night
and hazed star fields,
musked humus rooted
foot down, deeped, fluid like fog,
like breathing, beating, slipping within
without, a giant that can never come to rest,
a hole where a human should grow.