The earth
rises—slowly
falls—quickly
forms,
moves,
breaks,
quakes,
consumes,
and even at its deepest
is never—and always—
still.
I —
earth-born,
spirit-breathed —
cling to it,
as mud clings to itself.
Hungry,
I fill my void with sand
Thirsty,
I drink the salted sea
because
I.
am.
clay.
hardened
into human shape
—as much the stuff of stars
as the stuff of mire—
a quintessence
of multi-tonal grains
which,
striving
to be everything,
become
nothing.
Written in the 2000s.
faith, freestyle, non rhyming, myth, fantasy, short, musings
