An extension of myself,
reaching out from the top of my brain,
over wheat grain fields,
over a thumping, throbbing
at the center of

Over closed windows
that can only try to imitate
the colors by reflecting (this is where I find some reserve),
over two flesh mountains
that swoop toward heaven,
over two bags of stars
(only the dead ones, because they need a place to reside),
over a large sack of flour
to make many beautiful loaves of bread to be broken and shared,
swings on me,

Over a sunflower so ready to bloom (Oh! The Anticipation!)
and burst and welt!
Over two logs
and wiggling black beetles,
and over the boulders on which I stand planted.

Over all these things is the expression
and confirmation of existing as a self.
It is separate and sacred,
and yet it is me…
An extension of me.
Sometimes my whole body stands
at attention
to revel in fright or excitement.
And even fright is glorious.

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