Intimacy

Each crevice and cranny in nature's texture
resonates its song of yesteryear's lives,
the haunting melody from voices
who once called their world, parent.

Roots in the cerebral garden
from the genetic memories of forebears
producing its intuitive thickets
of awakening's dense and lush foliage.

So that when Mother Earth
tosses and turns with quaking clarity,
rumbling through the consciousness's foundation
with the tremors of mortality
or spreads her shroud of leaden tears
across the turquoise sky,
as all the droplets touch
in soaking reminding,
one knows to be human it not to be
without a beating tethered
to her creative womb.

Discovering in the steps of being
intimacy with an ageless maternal essence,
being a shared legacy
that we should find the beauty
residing her offerings,
because soon enough they will fade,
just as we,
becoming, but leafs with pulse
who wither in winter,
where we return to her arms of soil,
sleeping forever in her grassy realm,
another grain of history
taking one's place in time's hour glass.