Earth’s spirit enters him
through the tarsal bone,
a seraph rising up
to steady his mind at dawn.

When the room floods with light,
kneecaps lock in place, each toe
splayed upon the ground, repels
night, liberates the urge to ambulate.

His feet anchor each daily walk;
lightening rods that gather charge
and hold the body intimately as a root.
Steps shaped by the hand of God.

And when night falls, the man returns
to bed, half the day spent in pursuit
of gravity, and everything contained
within his domain left unsaid.

So, he luxuriates in twilight’s dream,
the heels cooled, the spirit gone,
ephemeral as steam, redeemed
beyond this fallen world.