What you Own:
these small cells complete of life
strands of hair to their very tips emanating holy fire
all the space that surrounds this body
this body
damp fields
and all the precincts of my soul
limbs that stiffen and ease curl and unwind
the uppermost moment of each inner thigh
the skin that folds against these eyes
these eyes
the point of surrender at the back of my neck
each imperfection
and everything I hate about myself
this breath
this entire continent
What I Own:
some golden light
one dark line that moves raggedly down
from navel to momentous edge
one head thrust well back
several kinds of eyes
hands
hands made to worship
a certain spiraling groundless free-fall
lost words whispered into places beyond my hearing
words
words that drive deep
centuries deep
Joan Woodbridge
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/owning/
