The Earth Speaks.


the earth is so rich


with electric power and rage

it moves in colossal rhythm -spending itself

to tell us, with a roar

what it means to touch each other

I listen to this sage

pulsing in the winds

the blades, who, written deeply with volumes of time-

send a grin to be spoken into the skies

my heart waits until it has been nearly forgotten the sensation

I lay my face, once again, close to the earth's-

textured by time

I trail through the grass

strung out loud with green

and smell the pungent

dirty-fresh scent

this smell

teaches us

intimacy with


the stones and the motions of the ground

are begging me not to let my heels

stay soft

and not to keep my hair nicely trimmed

perhaps because the sun chooses to dance

on dirt and restlessness