#Earth #earthsong #erdenlied #morning #spring
If he could see you now. Really see you. Take you entirely in. As you are now, in these days, places
What we belong to. What we can point to out there; around us. And what a singular gift. Our innate sentience.
All the way. Your eyes, senses, sensibilities. Fill them
Each time you breathe in the Earth’s air, the life-giving air, you breathe out a cocktail of
Blonde head under baobab. Sun under shade. You sit on an African day,
The limpa from Scandinavia. The ciabatta, and the michetta from Italia, also known as Rosetta. The mantou from China.
It was a wet signature. Full of emotion. Full of eroticism. Still wet, with sweat
How deeply are you living, friend? How sense-deep. How heart, and
While the town sleeps and dreams behind me. And pined islands lay silently, invisibly off the salt-tongued shore.
Back in time, a romantic era of English Time, they used to send a son or daughter off
Between the keys. Between the chords. Between the notes. Between the sound you make
Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat
Maybe, like Marcel, Monsieur Proust, in Paris, it begins with a bite of a madeleine.
Those many, sung and unsung, who gave themselves, often gave up their lives, to fight, in wars,
At precisely 9.25. When the moon, the first and most abundant one of the new year,