I Shovel Into the Heart to Find Its Naked Face

Chambers fall to splinter gravel.
Leaf grows from my throat. 

Walls forsake the crumpled ground
It is meant to hold up.

There is much so
A cavity will collect. 

I ask to exit from the house:
Spirit of paper temple,
Spirit of cooking fire,

Sentinel at the door, what keeps
Within the loft. 

This burns in heaven with
Remembrance of dust: 

Spirit of kindling,
Inside the gourd.

My pocket keeps the disfigured
Orange years, 
Used wooden
Matches.

I pin myself to the land-living
Slipping surely everborn.