I practice being the Earth, mentally prostrating, opening,
actually fitting my face into the soil, and several times
finding my face covered by a vast “mask of pines.”

The mask of pines…that’s one I want to wear, savoring fragrant
days under sky loom, in pine room.  Finally it fits,
and I feel magnetic North.

Attraction, release– go along with the geese, following frieze
of fluent clouds, conjuring cold with their cries.
Find the field where deer drink at the pond of Earth’s evening face.

I travel through,
wearing my tranquil
mask of pines.