If our bodies could house geography,
our terrain would be rough, the edges
serrated by harsh tides of sentiment,
sedimentary remains, in house floods
or the way a photograph imitates life,
we make believe,
and study, first hand geology,
second hand earth, shared by lovers
before, touched and classified,
but wrongly categorized.
We searched for limestone without
knowledge of luster, cleavage or hardness,
the specifics, gravity, streak —
we found stones that have known history,
but it was not what we were looking for.
And to separate our anatomy with reason,
we are a composition of misinterpretation.
It’s like the miner who is searching for gold
finds pyrite instead,