Gushing Spring

I begin where the body meets the floor,
the sole unseals its mouth against the skin.
This ache admits the point where healing pours,
the way dry ground admits the rain within.

Great Surge

Between the bones, I work the knot to light,
and feel it climb, reduced to simple need.
What holds in muscle moves itself at night,
a pressure worked through fiber into heat.

Three Mile Point

Below the knee, the muscle learns the number:
one bowl of rice, then work until compelled.
The body holds the rise of hunger,
how far the fields extend when breathing fails.

Joining Valley

The hand goes slack. The trade is learned by feel:
to hold, release—remain upright and still.

Inner Gate

At the wrist, the passage seals the chest.
The heart kicks hard against a closing wall.
Air comes too late, the mouth compressed.
I do not move. That stillness is the rule.

Great Sun

The temple bears descending fire
a brightness set in force, a binding law.
What heat selects, it lifts onto the pyre;
what heat rejects is left exposed and raw.

Hall of Impression

Between the brows, the pressure slips—I grasp
not faces, but the burn that faces leave:
a sky that falls, a field erased to ash,
the look that means the future has been seized.

Bright Eyes

Beside the eye, the signal tempers sight.
The nerve is charged, obedient to light.