pangea nostalgia or a hollow bone

we could have walked to meet where
the land holds the land. there is a map 
i follow when the ocean is too big. 
that greek myth about humans originally
having four arms & four legs is partially true
though it is not about soulmates. it is about
tectonic plates. it was a mistake to stand.
i find myself craving primordial. to chart 
a path across species. wake up in the twilight dawn
of a thick-shelled egg. the sun, like a father's eye
burning through the walls of any house. 
we wake with hollow bones. finally light
enough to run. i chase you until we reach
an edge. sometimes i find a corner of the world
that is still reaching. i am reaching too. 
i used to dig holes as a child. i told my mother,
"i am trying to find the core." a molten heart
to cling onto. instead, i found square nails
& once a coin with my own face on it. 
dinosaur bones missing the legs. my legs. here
we are without a map. thank god. i love to go
off intuition. stumble down a street in
the blue city where we are visitors. i used to 
believe the sky was the ocean on her black.
we still run from teeth. i ask my gps for 
driving directions into prehistory. it tells me
how to cut a pair of gills. fasten wings
from the dirt. i do as it says. i meet you where
the land is just the land. language, sleeping.
sensation filling us. the sun, cracking us open.
yolk & then the rain.