My love, my love

I want to grow a field of dahlias

as an hymn to the sun,

offer my bare-soled feet in a prayer

of gratitude to soil,

circumambulate the garden to ask

the spirit of water

to soothe, to smooth the roots of all the things

that grow within the depths.

I want to fall in deep love with the earth,

dig my fingers into

its dark humus, like the lover it is,

to lift them out again

after seeding, so I have black dirt nails.

I want to have wind-kissed

cheeks flush the way they do when aroused and

sated, on repeat, pluck

warm berries, touch their warmth to parted lips.