I long to be naked
And shivering
Dive into the cold, rich earth of a plowed field.

To lie face down on a bed of icy grass,
North winds flying over my bare back.

For moss to grow up my ribs and around my neck,
And ferns to tangle around my fingers.
I long for smooth roots to encircle me in a silent embrace.

I long to drape myself over a soft log
So ivy would embellish my hair
Without stopping to ask my name,
For I do not want to know myself.