The breath of the earth soothes my throbbing lungs.
The spinning world smashes through the universe
and I with it, dumbfounded, a useless tongue.
My insides feel vast, a passing match for the sky.
I think they may even be black, black as the back
of the throat of the man that has the world in his mouth.
He must have been there for ages, for ages past.
To live with the stars would be paradise;
A dream of a life in the loam never won anyone.
I believe that the trees understand better than we,
they recycle our breath as we ask questions.
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