We were once the landscape
Beneath the skin, Rivers run their quiet courses Branching, dividing, returning A map not drawn, But remembered.
The body is not a boundary. It is a landscape
Borrowed from the earth: Veins like tributaries, Lungs opening like leaves To the invisible weather of air
We call it breathing, But it is the sky moving through us. We call it warmth, But it is fire Learning the shape of bone.
Even the pulse
That steady, tidal insistence Answers to something older:
The moon’s quiet pull
The ocean repeating Inside the chambers of the heart.
Look closely Fingerprints spiral Like galaxies, Like shells, Like storms seen from above Nothing here is singular.. Everything echoes.
And when we stand in rain, It is not an encounter
But a reunion
Each drop returning
To what it has always known
We are not made of elements. We are a continuation Water remembering how to move, Earth learning how to feel, Air becoming voice, Fire becoming thought
All of it Intertwined, Patter with pattern, A body….
That is never only one thing
