Body Coordinates

Body in space, dreamed coordinates.
Solid to touch, a dust mote blowing in the Mosaic.
Body sensations are no less ethereal than wind.

Edges blur, out of time, back to childhood.
Caretaker self is the dreamer, not the source.
One touch is only a flap of butterfly wings.
Gone and a new speck of life jumps in.
Blood illumines the outline, the way
bark defines the trees.
Body in mourning, body at play.

A great unfolding, fully engaged, alive.
Find all those secret treasures
you thought were lodged in its cells.
Burst them open with one focused moment.

Stars and treasures have no roots.