Photo: Anna off trail in the Jemez

My body, yours
the forest floor
body of earth.

High mountains
body of stone
left alone.

Rock cañon
and a sheep skull, full curl
that nobody claimed.

Calcium, schist to granite from magma
old cottonwood, sand
thirteen tracks of a roadrunner
disappearing into the body of a desert.
Sagebrush. Chimayo. Chamisa. Conejos
river running
under a bridge.
Bosqué, cottonwoods, los alamos
huge valley, snow body
wide open, hot, steam from spring body—
but cold that same night on our bodies.

Walking again, up the same way
but without a trail
to where we hid our bikes.
Riding in, then out
along a body
and in a body—
Being somebody?
Being nobody.