It was a map—
channels carved through muscle and tissue,
rising hills of bone.
Northern waterways winding,
connecting tributaries meeting southern seas.
I could see this body,
my skin, like soil and grasslands—
a geography.
How did I not know this before?
The imagery, symbology,
the ecology of earth and body.
She is me.
What if we are living
inside a breathing,
beating heart-led being?
As a child I was taught,
man was made in God’s image and,
I see myself
in everything else.
If we are water and stone,
stardust and loam,
if we are leaf and wing and fire,
if we are light from the darkness—
is not God’s breath the wind
moving through trees,
rivers blood curving landscapes,
are we not the biome,
interconnected within
a larger living presence,
is not God the form
around the multitudes of forms,
and are we not the form
holding worlds in us?
I hear her cry, the evergreen dying,
I hear the songs of birds flying,
whistles and deep thunder,
rain once ocean falling at my feet,
You have my attention.
Tears of weeping,
slow withering,
chattering and shrill,
blowing breath,
pounding beat,
stillness and heat—
Am I not One here?
-Hannah King
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