Charmed

Lying underneath a blanket of stars,
Gazing up at a million tiny eyes of light,
Soul expanded,
I never knew
Such perpendicular pleasure
Until now.
The grass is tangled in my fingers.
Alpine firs murmur in their sleep.
The Milky Way slides up the soles of my feet,
A tenacious shiver in the marrow,
A warming of the tendons,
A pulse of blood inside the veins.
What is feeling
Other than physical sensation?
We think we know things-
We do not.
We only pick up on a quiet murmur
Of some voice,
Whether distant or close,
And presume it to be our own.
Who is to claim that our knees are not mountains,
Our belly is not a lake,
Our fingers are not tree branches?
I certainly would not rob that
Shy pleasure
Away from anyone I cared about.
Perhaps our bodies are not so different than the earth.
Perhaps the glue of feeling is actually starlight,
Perhaps the ambition of the heart
Is really the sun
Pressing in on a forgetful world,
Trying its best to warm us with divine foreplay
So we are charmed
Back into our bodies,
And back into life.