I found myself wandering
the contours of your finger-
prints, ridges labyrinthian
curling in on themselves.

In the soil I found a door
carved from stone—a
staircase to the spaces
between your arteries.

I found sprigs of oak
poking through cellular
membrane; prairie
growing luminescent
across your skin.

Wasps sail from aster
to legume. Grasshoppers
start to mate and die.

The structures we create,
steadily dissipating into
your bloodstream.

Within openings in knobby
hills subterranean caverns
hold pools of water with
blind fish that dart
at every ripple.

I find you among them.