THIS BODY

Each time breath draws through me,
I know it's older than we are.
The haggard pine that watches by the door
Was here even before my older brothers.
It's a feeling I get when I pick up a stone
And look at it's mottled skin, the grey
Sleeve of time.
                This body I use,
Rooted here, this hillside, leaves shaking in wind,
Was once as small as a stone
And lived inside a woman.
These words, even---
They've come such a long way to find me.
But the sleep that translates everything
Moves in place, unwearied, the whole weight of Ocean
That left us here breathless.