Us

Sweet mother…

jugger of life, lover of other

sweet plot upon the dirt, the sand

grow from me your roots of wisdom

through my throat let your voicestand.

weave baskets of your grasses

in the way only your people know

the opium of the masses

is a breath of fresh growth.

Oh, sweet mother

for what do we deserve your patience

in a life of convenience

how can we preserve 

the necessity of your ancience…

Like dust to dust

comes dirt to dirt

from folly to fire

comes new life from hurt

in each brown there is green

and in green the rest your flowers

from tragedy you glean

a cyclic healing power.

for what I think

we may fail to grasp

is that the power of the living

shifts over quite fast

the death of it all-

renewing system of fire, flood and flee

the death of it all

is life come to call

on its own, endless tree.

And so I sit,

flowers watching like

curious children, 

learning site at first glance,

ocean swinging and dipping

to the tide’s tireless dance

Grasses fluttering

Seagulls scuttling

This stretch of coast

a lively, twinkling spanse…

Oh sweet mother,

Thank you for having us here

I hope in coming times

that you are more acknowledged here

that us humans may start seeing

that we own nothing here-

not the dust that made us

the dirt that stayed us

the trees, the land, the ocean that paid us

in coexistent trust-

bones to bones as

dust to dust

thank you for the beginnings, and the endings,

of everything that is us.