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I want to sleep beneath the skin of a pond

stare at boat bottoms, gliding above me,

lay in the muck looking up.

Or perhaps I wish to hide in a cabin

quiet snow piled around

melting it in a pot on the woodstove

BUT no, that would not work. 

I cannot thaw yet. 

I require torpor.

I need to dig beneath the earth and feel it press around me

its scratchy jabs abrading my flesh

the raw of it matching my inside

with my outside.

The pounding of the living stepping above me--

pause my overactive mind.

Beneath the pressure of life above

my thousand stinging emotions quelled, I'd know

know

like, I think I've known before.

What I am,

and how to live...

when I wake from hibernating

beneath the earth.

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