Short Form

I am home to mud and soil,

Inkling beings and moss 

That remind me 

Of untrimmed beards. 

Of men fighting through sludge,

We see ourselves in the still pools.

Somewhere need has spelt out our future

Heart lines reflected in the trunks of trees.

Building a lining underneath my stomach 

Dirty toe prints across white porcelain 

Distinctly different sized feet

My ankles have made their way through marsh

Fought and yelled.

And yet,

I am too scared of faucets.