today I lie again on dirt scattered by clammy fingers too broken too tattered to understand the holiness of the land it has touched.

I pray to the ground that they do not take this as offence only as compliment for my fingers and my body and the quivering ache within me only longs to be inside it as deep as I can hide as deep as I can feel the cold finally penetrate my skin as deep as the strands begin to straight themselves out in order to lie flat and feel.

today I lie again on dirt too soft and too matte to take me anywhere I want to go too fragile for my fingers to resume their journey too shallow for me to hide from people too wet for me to feel the cold.

today I rest my head under a stone and think of the day I will lift it with my mind think of the day my fingers surrender to the quiver think of the day I can no longer touch.

I lie down and I close my eyes and for a second I am not me and I am just the dirt I am matte and cool and soft and I am everywhere and nowhere and no one can be rid of me even if they tried because I lie on floors in shoes on beds between your fingers between your lies that no matter how fiercely you try to shake off still crawls back inside your body and makes itself home until you also become one.