Petham

1.

Earth waits:

beneath my feet

her sleep of years

seeps through me

like molten mist that sticks.

 

Land slips:

from hill to vale

trees drop golden

rain of leaves; a winter coronet

upon my musing head.

 

Earth breathes

twelve billion years

to come to this:

a horse’s snort

the pheasant’s flight

 

a call of owl

in fading light,

& I have sight to see

to comprehend

if only for a whisper.

 

Yes now I feel

how it might be

when earth

awakes:

speaks to me.

 

Colliding nebula

of need falls away.

here I am bathed

in hibernation’s

sacred sleep:

 

while Earth waits.

 

 

 

 

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