Ways to Kiss the Ground, Part 3: Be the Creek

throw yourself

backward head

first the

terror

of the becoming you are

water

and you

rush with the pull

of the

down and you seep you seek

out the ancient beds you

need no map you are

a map you

know the ground

you

pluck little leaves

and spin

turn catch and twirl a

grass blade whisking to find a

new home in

the dank

edges

the quiet overhangs,

celeriac

scented,

cool

And now back in

the current spurning and speeding

and now face down to the crumbs

of earth you

tumble the pebbles you

polish the rocks you

are intimate

with dirt