This is birth day
and again I find myself
inside a fluid-filled machine,
a glass-fragile framework fitted close,
draped over with a million eyes.
Inside this form of bones and skin,
this is where my being spreads.
The interlocking universe
belongs to me.
I will dance if all I have are fingers.
Fingers are gods; they build brilliant worlds.
I will build pyramids with mine.
When I woke, found myself here,
I could not move at first for fear
of the power in each bone.
The carnival swings around my feet;
it takes the breath to know that
this is home. I will leap into life,
calliope horses against my eyes.