my rivers and my stars

This poem is a little in conversation with John Donne in a way I really adore, but I don't think you need the Donne to appreciate it; it's a phenomenal poem about bodies and aging and embodiedness, and it's by Ursula Le Guin. What more do you need to know? 

The map of the tributaries of the Amazon

in blue, on the right thigh; 

lesser river systems

on the lower left leg. 

Extremities far more extreme: 

knobbed, wired, bent, and multiknuckled. 

Some dun cloud

drifts across the color of the eye, 

that aged nestling in its baggy nest, 

still avid, still insatiable. 

Replacement of cheek by jowl, 

of curve by hook or crook. 

Moles, warts, wenlets, cancerlings, 

a distressed finish, constellations, 

here the Twins, there the Cluster, 

flesh Pleiades

coming out thick at evening of the skin, 

pied beauty—there is none

that hath not some Strangeness in the Proportion. 

So the columnar what was waist

sockets to the cushioned pediment

of hips and buttocks. Parts are missing. Scars

lie smiling soft and small among the folds

and hillocks of that broad countryside. 

Oh, have I not my rivers and my stars, 

my wrinkled ranges in the Western sun? 

Oh, have I not my Strangeness? 

I am this continent, 

and still explore and find no boundary, 

for the far sandy beaches of my mind

where soft vast waves and winds erase

the words, the faces—this is still

endless, this is endless still. 

I am that wind, that ocean. 

—Ursula K. Le Guin (1928-2018), "Inventory," from In the Red Zone: Mount St. Helens, October 1981, although I have it in Finding My Elegy: New and Selected Poems 1960-2010 (2012). Other direct references in this poem include Gerard Manley Hopkins' "Pied Beauty" and Francis Bacon's "Of Beauty."