who to me (to space to substance to sky to earth to you to we)

 who to me (to space to substance to sky to earth to you to we)

who wants to look up with me

who wants to lay down on me

who wants to imbed the ground 

with me

                who wants roll the weight of the ozone over me

who wants to rub the limestone raw under me

take my body and shine a perfect 

concave print of me

the first external expression by me

who wants to speak into the dirt and contact me 

through my sole(s)

who wants to stand at the foot of the dome 

where my feet are cupping the mound and 

help me plant my nails 

clip them 

and make little hole(s)   in   rows          one   per 

some  root   some rot

some make it some not

i point my feet down

make longitude 

witness the sky do the work of the earth’s turn

    wait to become

and after a churn 

                    under the milky cold sun

thaw will fall for all to be moved and

i will call    you

come grab me and stretch me

by the nails of my fingers

until they unroll from the tip 

                        and slice 

into the whip 

                        of the clouds 

into that wet sugar 

there where only a little warmth lingers

finding the punctures at the edge of this sphere

where our air 

sucks in 

and out

i press my mouth round the hole in the membrane 

and drink down the liquid black vast

passed    to and from       this layer of life   

the substance of space takes on the shapes of everything  i was said to be 

drips down my body          down my being                    down my having been

this shining slick dark glittering nothing 

like the belly siphons oil 

is absorbed at the root and the rot of those planted in plots  

and grows growths never known to this soil