After John Yau

I want to put one foot after the other after the other.
I want to move my mouth in shapes people understand.
I want to grow eyes that see more than me,
legs that wrap around the universe.
Just once I want my skin to feel like my tongue
on a post-roast Sunday afternoon sofa.
I want balloons for lungs, a sponge for brains.
I want aches from effort, fillings from fun.
I want to be responsible for what destroys me.
I want to melt into the roots of a tree.
I want to remember I am buckets of water.

© Carl Burkitt 2020