Gnarled roots are my sinew.
Mountain ridges are my spine.
Buried channels full of wet darkness
are arteries feeding tissues of sod.
The grass is my skin, the forest--
my crowning glory.
I lie beneath the loving sky;
a teasing companion.
The wind is her breath,
The stars and sun and moon
are her charms.
our children, the clouds
are creatures of fancy;
dark and fair--churning with electric dreams.
I could be at peace--except for the gouging parasite
that is man. His unnatural order, his puny dirty cities
make me itch.