The earth isn't my enemy

(153)

A scan of the draft of this poem from my notebook

Part 19 of the 64-part series called "moon photos"

You staked your claim out west to pan
in the river for precious leavings from
the ground. You stepped off to look
at the clouds as they propelled themselves
snail-like across the blue expanse. You
watered your horse and let him eat grass
by the river burbling under the blanket
of sky, the canyon walls were posts of a rich
plush bed. You found a tree (really
a big bush) and sat in its shade and
drank from your flask. You built a fire
and caught some little fish in the river
and cooked them and ate them as the stars
made themselves known in the darkening.
You wanted to go to them, to feel them
for yourself. But the earth held you back.
She said, You, child, are not ready. You have
not felt yourself fully. Eventually you fall
asleep dissatisfied. You won’t understand until
you’re ready, and when you’re ready, you’ll leave.