I receive wildflowers at the base of the mountain,

lupine and buttercups,

I pick the bouquet, I do not want

to be greedy, but my arms are heavy

with flowers, every pocket fills with petal

I drink from the teat of a wandering goat,

the act fat and furtive,

my cheeks glow with sun

I walk to the spring at the side of the hill,

the stream that never dries,

fill my mouth with cold minerals

I am hungry

and hole

dreaming of fried fish and hot

sand, the world is bright

in agate and glistening tide

pools, I could swim

I could sleep

among a pod of seals—

What does it mean to be salt?

to be a person

worth their weight in rock,

in dirt, in good good bread?

I receive the wildflowers,

a feral Torah at the base of Mount Sinai,

I find a cave and lay into the stalagmites,

the damp settles

into my bones, blessed be,

blessed be the dominion of bats,

of elephant seals bellowing into the dark,

Let there be light,

Let there be mud

Let there be a catastrophe

that smells like smoke

but sets me free.