i want a truth that feels like you. i want this roadway to rut, birth trees. i want pikes of green and the long haul. i want water on my feet. i want the jut of my breasts stung by cold. i want the hoary back of old hills on one side, the slit of running water on the other. i want a solitary cry. myself. owl. wolf. i want holes in the sides of mountains to tremble like the inside of a mouth. i want the sky to thrust and parry, kill with cold. i want the pinpricks of rain so cold it feels like ice. i want my lips to swell. i want endless lazy grass. i want dirt that smells like health. i want bone marrow strong as an oxe. i want worms through my toes, red ants the size of jelly beans, fish that throw themselves toward the sky as if they think they can fly. i want the heat of fire. i want the sun to peel me like paint off a barn. i want my freckles as bold as soot. i want the blue in my eyes to be confused with cold, when it is heat. i want the hair on my legs to tangle. i want the swell between my legs as strong as the tang of a peeled orange. i want my feet to find the ground again, this pebble, this stone, this soil, this water, this grave, this bed of seeds. everything is here. i want a truth that opens like the land and births mountains and oceans. i want a truth that sets me free. i will find it like coal. i will be covered in soot. i will find it like a gold. i will be afraid of the dark. i will find it like a pearl. i will nearly drown. i will find it like Dorothy. i was already home.