When I look from above,
I see rivers as veins
snaking between the knees
and elbows of the hills.
Closer in are the trees
reaching arms to the sky
and closer still, faces
blooming in the bark.
I wish I could rock
this many-layered being
in my arms, care for her.
Who is the mother here?
The Earth is the body
that will last long after
I am gone. Myself
a mere cloud,