Poetry Of Place
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Poetry of Place
Return to yourself by finding a home in as many new territories as possible. Place is geography, psychology, therapy and balm. You’re an ecosystem living in an ecosystem.
It is privilege to wander far and wide, and a skill to receive the breadth of the messages,
the hidden lengths of our love, flowering on unexpected land.
I visit the trees and find new names for myself. I reach a body of water and re-frame my reflection. My feet, earthed in soil, remember themselves, There is a root and a route to every new decision.
The rain makes more lake, more river, more sea.
The birds curve exquisite, making loops in the milk sky,
somehow, against all odds,
and somewhere amongst the earth’s perfect commotion,
I am found again.
I consider the origins of our planet-kin, how we might better live amongst one another. There are hidden answers everywhere – olive moss on rock, pink slip on nautilus shell, dew drop on spiderweb, deep-truth under the peace of the redwoods,
a body reset, among the abundance of green, enduring life.
Where I am looking for novelty I find reason,
where I was looking for rest I find a new lease of activity.
We stray far from our dreams, but there are old messages, fingerprints, maps back to soul, parts of self, dotted everywhere. I found the same sun in every new terrain, but she was always new, always improved, forever learning, dancing on architecture, grass, brick and limestone, weather, fruit, and language.
I go to the end of the earth and find new ways to nourish myself, new behaviors that are novel and necessary. The moon changes position; an acrobat of sorts, the stars hide, or they may make their planets known, the wind throws expert voice, changes whispering tone. There is wonder inside of it all, meaning inside of it all. Perhaps you might have noticed the sky turning over and out, over and out in perfect rhythm?
Maybe you have seen the leases gather and scatter and brown and cease
the flora and fauna bare and bloom,
bloom and bare,
the transcendent gradient of the sky
– how the horizon purples, sighs,
sinks into decadent rust.
