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.