I would send my roots down into the dark metallic soil until my toenails hit water where I could again breathe--again, be clean.
The steady tree trunk of my spine--the column holds my thoughts in the blue air...Lets flowers drip from the ends of my hair. My hands are leaves--full of veins and crisscrossed patterns that tell stories of where I have been--that tell my fortune.
"If I stepped out of my body I would break" into the stratosphere--communing with clouds--looking back across the dappled quilt of the Earth beneath me. I would know the stitches of riverbanks and the patterns of the flowers I loved.
Maybe then, I would remember not to take it all for granted.
Maybe then, I would understand.