But I have seeped in under alley stones and dirt to blood's birthplace, and my language is the molten core where fire and matter merge to create the music of minerals that become earth, and if you look at the hills and mountains and fields, you gaze at me, I am near you, next to you, beneath, above, and beside you. I live in your lower back, in the muscles used for bending and rising. I am a heavy clay bowl in your stomach in which to pour your fear. Your spine is a canyon trail I walk and I am the latch handle you turn in the dark to let light enter.
