What sweet perfection, this planet blessed
to feed itself, whose wildness beckons men
to tame her, to milk her flesh for comfort,
for the glory of brief accomplishments—
lost cultures and civilizations, our crumbling
emulations of rocky crags with razor teeth
scraping stormy skies as man’s connection
to heaven. We have been fruitful, hungry
for her bounties hobbled by ignorance,
arrogance and greed. Mother to us all,
she is a stranger to our children, a far cry
from the hard and generous woman
she once was—her distant whine
on the wind from town begs relief
and a certain change in direction.
So good, and so true.