Archi - invisible

When will the land own itself?  When will the cosmic rush slam into us with water and glass and a million crystalline orbs?  We deserve it.  I've asked over and over what fate will bring.  I'm tired of wondering.  I guess it is up to me to make this something.  This something high overhead.  I'm not lucid dreaming, I'm the walking dead.  Too much zombie dirt on planet earth.  Typical terra firma response.  We green.  We grow.  Then we go down into the soil.  Busted up calcium.  Worm guts.  I'm fine with worms.  Just not dead birds.  I've buried two now.  Over and over, under maple leaves, under oak leaves and ash leaves.  Under willow's sways.  Under hawthorn.  Under shivering birch trees and aspen leaves.  Under the slender horns of the crescent moon.  Mother saw a life go by.  Black again.  Deep black soil.  Dreaming of fire hot lava.  Heated water and cool rocks.  This is my little oasis to write by.  It's like sitting by the stream as a child.  I was born there under a sprinkling of stars and wide spread branches.  I decided I wanted to stay.  I curled up in tangled, wild roots.  I laid by the water.  I clung to trees.  Each day a star burst forth from my heart and each day the forest whispered for me to stay.  I left.  I walked through the field and into the backyard of society.  I ended up in the box I didn't want to live in.  I wanted to live by that stream, in those trees, under those roots.  Woods and web.  It's easy to feel the disappointment now from a stuffy room.  Where did my wildchildhood go?  bring it back to me.  Easily.  Bring it back to me.  Says the witch.  Bring it back to me.  Daily.  Bring it back to me.  In the night.  Some would call that crazy.  Some say it's a flaw.  To think too much or too deeply and to remember too much.  I love you.  Stones, grass, trees.  I wake up in the night when it is dark.  I wander out in the sleeping town of concrete, brick, gravel and plastic.  Steel.  I wander out and wonder when it will be my time again to sleep by the sound of moving water, swaying limbs, moving air, and by the heat of a strong sun or silently watching moon.  Even her dark phase is not so dark, it is warm and deep.  A mystery.  As long as we keep it.