City lights electrify distant places
but here, find time and light and passion
on the canyons and craters of the moon.
Solar cycles meld sweat and ice and silence...
is nearly inescapable.
My body pours poetry that finally I scoop up and cup
to keep in the forefront of my mind.
Finally.
Finally I understand. Because when bombarded by city lights
the body - this body - is merely a vessel the mind uses, or rather, abuses
for entertainment and adverts...
are everywhere but here.
Here is where the only crime is failing to breath deeply,
forgetting to open tired eyes.
Here soles are roots blooming from the earth
and the air that bursts out from under each step
curls around each toe
to cradle each pad and each crease.
And here meaning is found ground deep
in the teeming galaxies of sand.
Because we haven't set up billboards on the moon yet.
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