I have a tone inside me

that has not been sounded. Or only once

or twice. Once she went straight to the center

of me, once she could have walked through me

like a tunnel. She could have seen sky

on the other side of me.

I could have washed my hands in sand,

then touched her, turned her to sand.

I’m the opposite of Midas: I want to touch

what’s returning to earth.

--The Journal, rpt. in Body Painting