the plane turns.
We are flying in gravity’s teeth.
Below us the earth is broken
by red tributaries
flowing like melted steel,
splitting the continent apart
and fusing it
in the same touch.
It is easier to fall
than to move through the suspended air,
easier to reel toward the pull of earth
and let thoughts drown in the physical rivers of light.
And falling, our bodies reveal their inner fire,
red trees in the lungs,
liquids building themselves
light in the dark organs
the way gold-eyed frogs grow legs
in the shallows.
Dark amphibians
live in my skin.
I am their country.
They swim in the old quiet seas
of this woman.
Salamander and toad
waiting to emerge and fall again
from the radiant vault of myself,
this full and broken continent of living.