Step two :

Get small,
she said—small as possible

you ain’t gonna reach the earth
if you insist on being so big.
Curl your toes; just like that
til you sink neatly in on your center–
double, triple, crisp and clean-cut
like a paper brochure
tuck yourself under and let the head
droop.

Down.

Down to the ground you’ve got to go
till the fructuous earth can kiss you back.
Your lips
can swing til the crusted bits brush
the ferns, and the curls of hair soaked in sun
fold into the fronds.

There ain’t nothing dangerous,
nothing to it but to wag
your shadow around the maples.


 

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