I let the sound of Mother Earth’s heartbeat shake
Me awake this golden morning. Mother Nature,

do you hear me? I collect fluorescent sun from
evaporating sea; Mother Nature do you fear me?

I wish I could forget you, wish I could break free
but I can never forget this rising sea, cannot move

on. We are intertwined, planet and I, forever. Out
of the blue expanse with no start and no end—

a continuous ebbing and flowing effect—they drag
and swallow another whale whole and all the while

I cry across the void, I cry at how coy, how endemic. 
They told us in a lecture that what makes human

special is our ability to learn and stick to routine;
I wonder how long we’ll bury our heads in the sand

for, how long will we ignore? Our waters shimmer
and not from the sun; from something else, some

thing man-made, something damaging, deep, dark,
acidic. And in this world the trees are blue and sea

is green; trees are deep and sea is tall. What’s what
and who’s who in the plant / bacteria / animal / human /

nonhuman / more-than-human kingdoms (queendoms)?
We all will die one day, and yet I hope, and yet like

mushrooms—tiny spots on vast, deep roots—resistance
grows. There is a wanting and a needing: what the earth

can live without, and what we can’t live without. These 
are the tendencies of rule: wild machinations of man

guide our hand on the path of novelty. We travel through
geographies, democracies, habituaries, one moonlit

wave to wave. I reframe, restory, recalibrate. I reconnect
to the universe, to this one verse—one family. Brother

Earth, your roots ground me in the wonders of creation.