We Love This Body
My friend, this body is made of energy compacted and whirling.
It is the wind that carries the henhouse down the road dancing,
and an instant later lifts all four walls apart. It is the horny
thumbnail of the retired railway baron, over which his children
skate on Sunday, it is the forehead bone that does not rot, the
woman priest’s hair still fresh among Shang ritual things…
We love this body as we love the day we first met the person who
led us away from this world, as we love the gift we gave one morning
on impulse, in a fraction of a second, that we still see every day, as
we love the human face, fresh after lovemaking, more full of joy
than a wagonload of hay.