Do you know mountains as your breasts,
swaying grass as soft hair,
ocean salt as your very own moist kiss?
Is the bread you eat, lathered with butter,
your own self?
Feel your fork-ness.
Feel your chair-ness from across the room.
One fine morning your body may open up
to include a blue jay flitting and darting
between your evergreen lashes.
One fine afternoon your stomach disappears
replaced by that sleek orange cat.
Your cough turns into barking dogs.
This world of evening sun licking the horizon is
you, you, you!
You’ll watch you tell a story that you’re only a person,
only two legs and flickering eyes and gramophone ears,
but you can’t sustain the joke of it
and you’ll laugh as snow nestles in your valley;
tropical butterflies flit as you unexpectedly