you are made of earth
you are made of clay and
the rock walls that make mountains
you are made of sand
the way you let my tide brush up beside
(but not sink into) you.
you are granite and stone
how your face gives nothing away
and holds everything in
but you are soft like the pillowy soot
when the fire is done burning
and our feet and cheeks are warm
and everything has finally been said
and we were ablaze but we didn't
burn down did we?
you told me your chest is full of gravel
but when I bring my hand there
all I feel is soil
all I see is a field
all I hear is the whistle of air
brushing the seedlings' reaching sprouts.