The Earth seduces me in her forgetfulness.
In her gown of paradox - a good look for her.
Swirling, reeking, messy life
caught in a updraft of delusion...
somehow makes peace and reconciles steady.
A pleasant, inaccessible blooming.
A flavor of unapologetic constancy
a grand I don’t give a fuck
but in a good way.
In an allowing way.
Belly bulging pregnant,
and still the moon rises able and willing,
like it’s always done.
And I stand upright on the outside.
All these things I am but in turmoil.
A pea is placed under my pillow and I toss and turn all night.
Meanwhile the world rages and Earth sleeps through her alarm.
David Whyte says
all the birds and the creatures of the world are unutterably themselves.
Dear Earth, you forgot one.