We play a game
From start to end.
Put names on things,
Learn to pretend.

The game unfolds,
With stops and starts.
No one's immune,
Each plays a part.

Legs of the table,
Arms of the chair.
The eye of the storm,
Coming up for air.

Neck of a bottle,
Bend of the knee.
A baby's breath,
A lover's leap.

Lip of the cup,
A woman's touch.
The green-eyed monster,
The widow's watch.

A soft caress
And watchful eye,
The hourglass,
All things die.

Wings of a prayer
And broken glass.
Words unspoken,
Home at last.

I walk in this body,
I dress this body,
I have a chance to express
And a desire to impress with this body.

I smell the air and see the stars
And bathe in warm water with this body.
I taste red wine with this body,
This mouth, this tongue.

And when in sleep I dream,
It is this body that trys to run away;
And these arms that ache to hold
Those dear ones lost to death.

After the dreams of night time pass,
I step into the world of waking and dressing,
Sorting through piles of details and material goods.
And it is this body that moves with me through time,
Bearing witness to the rise and fall of seasons,
A rush of years, and perhaps a scattering of tears.

Things move within this body.
Beneath my skin there’s a life teeming with motion.
My heart pumps with such a low sound,
A drum that keeps the steady beat,
The base that supports my legs and feet.

I walk in this body,
I dress this body,
This lovely bag of bones,
This fragile flower on a stem.

This body.