The soil that lives
The solid soil
Under the soles of my feet
Ground to fine dust
By the winding winds
In their incessant dance,
The soil that lives
Connects my thoughts
To the round world.
The soil is the link
Between the earth and me.
Yet some may think
The soil has soiled us.
But I embrace that thought,
For I am deeply
And profoundly
Soiled:
My roots are enmeshed
In the dirt below
Entangled in a choreography
Of lives and moves
Of sites and routes;
My leaves feed me
As they resist dissociation
And fall every year
Into fruitful association
With the never-ending soil.
Beware
For the speech of things,
No! The voices of life
Are all asleep
When the soil is reaped
And deemed improper
For human minds
To thrive.
Then silence reigns
Throughout the night,
The abstract ruler of
Concrete cities of
Glass and steel,
Devoid of soils and roots
And leaves and trees.
The silence of death
And of meaninglessness.
