Alive

She brushed away the wisps of clouds that encircled her head
skin speckled with pine.
Dress adorned with a carpet of green hills moving
with each breath from the sky.

Everything that happened on her skin happened quietly,
the bells in the church like crickets
on her body of nature,
built to withstand the harshest movements of life.

She was supported by the lovers that lived in her forest follicles
tucked behind her ear,
the family of five in the crease of her left arm,
and the old man resting by the veins of her foot.

Every small life, each their own in her flawed landscape
of swiss mountains and low-hanging clouds.
Hidden water trickling down the dry caverns of her skin,
each drop heard like tintinnabulation, echoing
through her valleys and peaks and caves, unseen.