a pinecone hit my back
a pinecone hit my back
a pinecone hit my back
an ant and the sun on my ankle
hair curling across my cheek and the nape of my neck
braided sound of birdsong and distant traffic
two planes tracing powdery lines overhead
the way the light settles softly on the grass.
what distances / what closenesses
to be a consciousness in and of a body
to be smelling dry summer grasses
to have the sun on my very own shoulders.
a pinecone fell from the red pine
and hit the curve of my spine.