Terra Tells

My nature is imperfect

I shake and breathe and thunder,

but still on my skin you erect your

roads and plants and scrapers

but still you suffer strife and hunger

And

In my fuscous skies and far below,

to where your cultures seep,

to depths you'll never know,

to all the burnt borders

where migrants creep

and corpses sleep

I weep

A deluge fell from cosmic eyes

to wash away the pain

but always,

let the memory remain

and let the wayfarer wander

and savor the petrichor

and heed the psithurism

beyond the moonwakes

we walk and run,

so that one day

we may again

sing and dance,

and love,

and

apricate as one.

-MM