Skinny Poem: At Home, At Last
My cells
shimmer
in delicious stillness,
the inaudible
hum
of the
universe
courses through
my tides,
through this
nylon
folding chair,
through
the
80-year-old
cedar
in my yard.
Skinless,
I am
embedded
in the
fabric of
life itself,
distinct,
yet not
separate
in even
the
tiniest
way.
At home,
at last.