Heart of All,

The thing to remember,

Time and again,

Is that we are so small,

That we are so small.

When the sky, effortless,

with reds unimagined,

Portrays beauty, as is truth manifest.

The shackles of gravity,

A lover’s embrace.

The earth,

Our seat of egress

The winds lifting,

The pleasantest sound.

The quiet of nature.

The peace of the cow.

The hills, the rifts,

Not made to impress.

Their flaws, our pleasures,

Our vacuum for stress.

I wish so damn bad this was all that we had

And quiet would call our name.

The earth, she'd lay bare,

Of the businessman’s stare.

And hunger would be gone with the rain.

There’s a home out there,

And it’s waiting.

Splendid nightingales humming their strains.

There is grass made to bend and hills without end.

There is dirt to color, not stain.

Oh, lifting winds,

Sweep all, sweep well,

Lights that defy night,

Steel grown too tall,

The automobile’s horn,

And the memory of it all.

Let us wake, come morning, in light of the sun.

With but three words known,

food, water, One.