The country must have looked like a person once.
Someone landed and said,
You, you remind me enough of home.
That’s how the globe was formed
And little by little the idea of home learned to travel—
And develop its elusive slang,
Saying to the foot, not where you go.
Saying to the letter, maybe.
I want to see everything, hear everything,
And share it all— how the walls start to smell moldy,
Violet in the drying light.
And no floor could support a living soul
This may only be the beginning;
So, here I am—I want to feel everything.
The clover filling in the blanks
Between the grass,
And the sky tumbling down the wild, clean hill.
