This, my earth

This, my earth,

whose waters eddy and fill

the contours of this planet’s surface

and never end, nor begin.

This, my earth,

whose very mineral life

is taken up into the hands

of small men with too-big ambition.

This, my earth,

whose fires burn deep inside

and turn, whose fires spume

and crack the infinite air.

This, my earth,

in spirit only, not

my earth in name – an

elemental has no face.

This, my earth,

that which renders all struggle futile,

that which is only being,

depending not on the borrowed ‘I’.

This, my earth.

This, your earth. This

our earth. This earth is us,

we it, until we move in you once more

and live the fallacy that we call ‘to die’.