At the end of the day all of my exposed nooks are packed with earth. May all manner of flowers (even those designated “weeds” by anthropocentric gardeners) sprout from my pores and spread their petaled faces like organic satellite dishes, picking up the thrumming hums of cosmic information that zings through the ethers within and around us, Always. May I be receptive. May I be spacious enough to contain it. To contain you. To contain us.