Regrow a Body (birthday poem)

It sounds mythic,
or possibly Frankensteinian (is that a word?)
but it's true:
I know how to regrow a body.
This is not a metaphor.

The cells inside us are ecosystems
as vast as the Milky Way
(imagine them falling from the sky
& planting themselves in Earth's soil,
like seeds of fire);
They carry the complex intelligence
of deep wild jungle (remember Amazonia?)
the majesty and electrical charge
of geysers, cascades, craters, storms
and the purity and sensitivity
of an infant, newly born
in the middle of winter
(yes, like Christ)

and so
while there is so much
I could say
about feeding
and nurturing
and watering
and oxygenating
and cooing
and loving
and stimulating
and invigorating
and sending into the world with a big fat lunchbox full of super-charged powers
one's miniature galaxies
and tributaries
and millions of suns
around which spin
trillions of planets
all with their rhythms
and cadences
of ancient
and timeless wisdom,
instead I'll just say:
You too can regrow a body.

Start with your elbow,
or a strand of your hair,
or your belly button.
Know you are a miracle
and that this is not a metaphor.

​Sink deep
and down
into the loam
of your body
and you will rise
beyond each horizon
that comes to your shore
like waves
of light
waves
of light.