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The Earth is a goddess of many forms.
We conceal her even as we imitate her.
It's only proper to hide our women,
only right to create beauty where we can,
her trees in our vertical lines,
her water in sheets of elevated glass.
We capture, cultivate the once-wild,
tracing her curves in poured concrete.

But somewhere
she lies bare,
brown firm rock peeking
behind transparent water-veils
behind green moss-lace
in light rushing, bubbling, ever-moving.
In the temple of herself rest,
in the cold green-blue pools sink,
knowing you are a life-spark among sparks,
finding little crawling things in unexpected places.
You are not tired, muddy, half-frozen.
You are clean. Blessed. Alive!

The earth is a goddess of many forms,
but all beautiful.
I said Upstate New York. He Canada. She Georgia.
It was Kafkaz.
It didn't matter. It was home.