that summer in Northern California
when the heat stuck to our backs
and our backs to the dirt
and the dirt hung
like your scent to my neck.
we camped on the edge
of a stream, below rebel redwoods
tempting the sheets of moss to stretch further.
my back to the dirt and yours to the clouds,
I tried to take you all in.
But once I noticed the first bit of forest, I noticed it all-
except for you.
I told you I cried after we made love
because I couldn't get clean enough.
We had spent three months in that tent
and three years in us
and now after a year without
it is still the dirt that keeps me grounded.
it is still the dirt that clings back.
