this exquisite earth
is not a blue poem in space
nor a painting squatting
in the darkness, or even
a simple bed for light

she is nest and womb, she is seamstress
of hours, she is orchestra
alive in all names of waters,
alma mater, kindler of elements

she is matrix of scars, she is
how healing mates our cells
she is the knife
and the wound
she is even the scab

o green prayers, find me
here as i listen wordless in earth’s
touchable liminal body

in her sheltering truths that rock
from ineffable eyes (for all eyes are hers)
we are not born just to recall divinity
but to live inside it