That peaceful earth, the one with open
arms, meadows, peaks and streams
to stage our dreams—within a perfect
backdrop tucked away from urgency
compressed, gridlock escapes and dark
alley nightmares—we love and lust
for her, believing she will always be
to receive our desperate wanting, that
she has not changed, that she is not
the same woman who quakes with fury,
spews fire and storms fear wherever
she wants, for whatever reason, whim
or consequence. She is alive, a human
goddess trying to hold it together
under pressures to be reckoned with.
drycrikjournal 