Into Nature

The gift of the outside,

Those parts we have never

Figured out how to take

In their totality,

For our own ends,

The flowers that are not

Sitting in water in a shop

Waiting to greet a loved one,

Someone saddened

Or in anger,

The trees that have not

Been torn down for

Our furniture, our journals,

And who has ever

Even dared to bring

A mountain home?

This is what we must seek.

We must leave our world

Of taking, using,

And throwing away,

And must move

Into the spaces

That have no need for us

Though their love for us

Is pure and unending.

We must bury our noses

in that aromatic space

between rock and soil,

where rain gives life

all of its memories.

We must return home,

Taking nothing with us,

But our wild, forever hope.