a poeme


water, shifting, swirling dancing whirling
sunlight—distant, imperious warm eternal bright
soil—bones and blood of a trillion mountains’ toil

She is verdant, soft, spiky, alluring poisonous
He is bright, uncurling, yearning, soft, lethal
They is ethereal, smooth, translucent, real

Three together as one under the bright star
we have begun to think of as our only sun
We think so much of our conceptual empires
but we have many stars yet to touch, so many so far.

Wars suffering agony bone fire and flesh crushing
snowflakes of death spinning into the night, rushing
our plastic and glass and steel tombs luring us into
believing that we can forget the Earth, our first womb

But star dust does not lie
either we aim skyward and fly?
or under our sun’s fire, we die.