Vitruvian Man

I'm alone,
spreadeagled on my beach towel
on sand smoothed by wind and tide.

Each day, the sun warms my skin,
twice a day the ocean washes it cool again,
at night I watch the moon cross the sky.

Sometimes,
my arms and legs make a square,
sometimes a circle.

The navel is my centre, always.
Four cubits make a man.
I count the cubits to the centre of the cosmos

while I wait to be born into this world
or the next.