You’ll try to keep feet where they belong,
but still they end up taking you to
some other place you didn’t know you wanted to be.
Shake off the sleep-dust, wake up and wander
over here. I’ve seen another place you
didn’t know you wanted to be, but nor did I.
And here I am.

Some other moment took you away, and you landed
on your feet again, now. Here again, now–again.
There must be some other undemented face you
can put on to present yourself to it. Look out from behind your
mask, you masked avenger of all that once was
righteous. Land on your feet again, but don’t land
your feet where they shouldn’t be.

Land on your feet again,
as long as you’re landing them on the ground.

As tender sweet dew descends,
the night time scent of fresh pastures waft my way.
I am taken back to so many times
and places where the scents of
wide green pastures had filled my head before.

There was a time when those scents were taken for granted.
There was a time when they were not even known.
For too many people, the scent of the country is unknown.
That is a crime.
That is a crime.

All people should realize their roots as humans.
We should be humans, not consumers,
though the difference evades most.
We should be humans, aware of ourselves,
defining ourselves through our relation to the land.

But as consumers, we define ourselves by our possessions:

“I am the owner of a black truck.”

“I am the owner of that house.”

By our status:

“I am the manager, the father, the leader.”

By our greed,
Our need to consume:

“I am the customer, patron, patient.”
“How much is it?”

But not by who we are:

“I am a spirit, trapped and striving; I am me.”