I have not found peace, but I have glimpsed it in the happy eye of a dog on a walk, trotting, panting in step with step after a mad scramble after a fleeting rabbit or chasing a squirrel up a tree and at home darting beneath slumbering lids, chasing dreams.
It is cruel and embarrassing to have an asteroid strike my beauty; my ecosystems are invaded and disrupted with the havoc and the gash. When my volcanoes erupt, my people chastise my self-inflicted violence. They narrow their eyes at my fickle nature; they question my bountifulness. In fear, some look to the moon and the craters and despair, but I am earth; I am shrouded in miracle: patient, folding old skin within to be rekindled into new, canvasing barren landscapes with humble grass, and flowers, soon.
Beat; beat. The waves curl and break within my body, up my torso, up my shoulders, and burst into my throat, incessant, insistent, so constantly ardent. Where to? Where to? Where are you going? Oh, where are you going?