My bare toes, like roots, dig into soft peat
And I have caught music in the brass bound to my bones.
I have let cold chalk waters run through my fingers and wind into my clothes.

I have picked up quartz from the mountaintop
And stained my ragged trainers red on western clay.
I do not know what land I’ll steep in next, but I know I’ll meet that earth in happy days.

—————————————————
Catch-up poem from prompt nineteen.
—————————————————