My hair, loose from its bindings,
is the fabric of lost years;
my nails, bitten to beginnings, are now strong.
I smooth my brow,
carve a pediment of grace
on the new facade of my face.
I relax my gritted teeth, throw them
like flat stones to skip along;
ask the root of my tongue for its forgotten song.
When my cells announce their daily circus,
I tell them that their show is perfect;
when my bones ask to dance
with my marrow, I say take your chance.
I am learning to love my blood, its odd and even pulses;
love the warming of my ancient heart.
I'm coming home
to my mind and faithful spine,
my organs clothed in purple.
My brain is nicely balanced on its stem.
I feel my digits clasped in fists, and release them.
I train my thoughts, persistent vines
that, if left and over time,
will mask an artful brickwork.
I kiss the graceful ages of my skin,
press my lips against its calluses.
I close my eyes on torn dimensions;
when I open them, I don't divide the light.
(First published in The Sunlight Press, 26 October 2020)