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.