Sometimes you sleep on your stomach,
An elbow’s crook consuming your left cheek.
Perhaps, then, you’re tunneling toward creation–
The way you tell it–that violent instant
Frozen, captured in the pressure of an eyelash
On an arm.
But today you’re on your back
Sprawled out on the floor, a universe
In repose. This is the only time
Cosmic strings ride your bones–
Pulsars and quarks know their place
In you–your toes are people planets
Praying to their gods as the chest waxes,
Wanes. Those hands laced behind your head,
That drifting smile and nod–your belly
Full of stars.