The night where dragonflies
hover over dense meadows
of green and blue parade
a murky bundle of nature’s love
the light of the moon
reminds the few who’ve traveled long
and the wanderers of the time
when things were necessary
the beaten slopes of valleys
and where roads stretched long and far.
The flowery aroma smells
sweet as honey-nectar.

Wry foxes cry from place to place
and nature’s inbred color
flees like the leaves in a calm autumn
and the cracked
slanted tree stumps
spawn the scars of the earth.

The passing currents of history
learn by heart the steadfastness
and the roaring windy whispers
form an embrace that follows.
We are to greet the land that welcomes us
else we might just follow our path
back home.

To touch the land with grace
a gentle hand
level with the hilly body of soil
where ancestors once farmed
groomed and bred.

A goal is provided to surge a wave of
appreciation amongst fellow man.
Like a pulley lifting corroded weight
of burdens foregone
but to also heave revelation
of refined understanding
through experiences
emphatically troubling
euphoric
or all that lies in between.
Combined we are
integrated grapevines
that may attach to pride
or taste of sugary seasons past.
This land has taken so much
so many rocky
heavy footsteps
and we’ve sloped the lands
with our ingenious triumphs
of design and priceless structures
we’ve interrupted the countryside’s
solid nobility.

Although the lands are fused to us
we are not yet fused to the land.

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