my soul clings to the walls of ocean caves:
soaked shadows and lights echoing back 
absent voices of mine and feelings 
i can never make sense of—

for i live from a conviction of the sacredness 
of my own individuality;
as if i am grappling for solid ground
with death beneath my feet,

as if all the oceans and hallowed icons 
were contained in my palm:
a hymnal with one verse 
singing her only praise

i read it through the breath of the morning rain,
i feel it through the being of my lone oak tree:

as if i, the earth’s virgin lover,
came to caress her curves, to form my body to her
silhouettes;

as if the universe herself 
were some allegorical creature,
creating and existing only to rehearse, play,
and celebrate her scared ancient rites