It is difficult to have an appetite 
for everything. So much to take in
that you end up empty. 
It turns in to a search through the dirt, 
a great digging and picking and fussing 
over every particle.
Each rock- I want. The flecks of rotted 
timber, a mushroom paradise with 
winged and unwinged citizens, 
everything there, in the tiny patch 
of grass between my crossed 
legs- I want. 
Look! Now my limbs are warm from 
the Sun (traveling a million miles to touch 
my thigh) such great intimacy- I want. 
I close my eyes and find 
a dewy green darkness, 
the heart sound in my ears.