To the Earth's Child:

I know what you are by what you see

leaves tanlged into strands of twisting wind

and you see sunsets, dirt-turned-gold

destruction gilded, glittered, gone

we are all and we soon return.

broken wood sits like a splintered crown

atop a turned head; I trust in things blinded and I trust in you.

and what a beautiful you: molded by gusts of feeling and rays of light

shifting, turning, changing, being amidst those static slips.

endure for us when we have wilted

when we've forgotten, tell us of our shape.