Qime stuck his fingers in a stump
And then he left them there
So he’d always feel a clump
Of wood and moss in boggy air.

He wished to always breathe the breeze
From his favorite mountain top,
He left a lung among the trees
Where piney winds spin and pop.

His toes dig into shelly sands,
His ears hear haunting howls,
Knees kneel in the holy lands,
Heart’s gone soaring with the owls.

One eye’s on the sunset feast,
Another, the sunrise hunts.
He has himself released
And is here and there at once.

Qime gave himself away in full
But still pours past the brim,
While he wove him into all
The world wove into him.