Beneath our notice, background, base —
primal field, the force that molds us;
this planet’s still our refuge place —
gravity still hugs and holds us.
We occupy the middle ground,
between the sky and living earth;
both large and small, the patterns found
reflect their edgy, spiral birth.
Space-wide, great galaxies unfurled;
uncounted stars like grains of sand …
and our enormous little world —
a mere blue speck of fertile land.
Between two particles of soil,
small invisible relations
rise and fall, feast, party and toil —
complex cultures, cities, nations …
Slow dancing in the world’s embrace,
entwined with what we hold most dear —
when all is gone without a trace,
the soil will know that we were here.
Each bite, each breath, each word we say
is an exchange, a worldly trade;
fresh starlight mixed with common clay —
that’s how the human heart is made …
It’s light that guides us when we roam,
and dirt’s true love that calls us home.
Rebecca Gilbert is a farmer at Native Earth Teaching Farm, and
writes a haiku almost every day.
