There are particles I can’t see— in the dust
of her big body— under my feet I see it big—
her tough arms the sequoia’s stretch— sweet
grass her hair in rolling fields— electromagnetic
her raw sex— from springs and glacial rivers—
her eyes the light of brown thrasher— her thighs
granite from erratics— erosion feeding soft
torso— marshland to the twin coves— salted
tongue the tidal sea— under blue she’s there,
not busy—my decision to walk with her— see?
Observing her like that all wrong?—maybe
she’s really none of that— only prismatic
stuff of minds— a massive uncertainty
clots— and we’re made so small, filled
with dark—far from a centre spiralling—
to light-lost edge on infinity— larger
than anything largest— I can’t see it
in messy middle— her us in gentle
speed and scale— where I feel all her
energy— with bare toes weathered heels
Let me saunter on this land — to sacred
wild where trails don’t go— to warden
wood with holy love— the beautiful
battles with breath— the rise and fall
of forest hymn— the pulse in time
to autumn flame— my faith laid deep
in heather’s glen— as strong as pilgrims
and their calves— gaited thoughts gone
in alpine breeze— maybe alone without
shelter— here in her home under foot