The picture of me is a smile dancing on earth, giggling to the earthworms and pansies, possibly psychedelically high. I don’t know how long I have been here, or why every time my friend touches my hand, my laughter starts again.

In this pose I am equally breathing in and equally breathing out. Soil is in my dimples and the crack is fungal. When we were preparing a large rice-based meal I was telling four people about the relationships between fungi and trees. They were rapt. They were wrapped.

These roots are my roots. I want to know that I can lie and laugh here all summer.