As even a very occasional reader “staying for the prose” would quickly gather, my thoughts borderline obsessively turn to the great faith and hope I place in the prospect of humanity deciding en masse to tend to the healing of the earth by laying claim to our intended role as stewards of the cycles of life.  If we all determined to, say, grow half our own food, the results would be spectacular in terms of liberty, atmosphere, and flavor.  To name just a fraction of the possible.

per this ongoing tendency for benevolent reductivism(autocorrect suggests  I made that word up, so good for me), I wrote this poem on the subject:

 

maybe I’ll just say what’s on my mind

because that’s you and I fine

entrusting each and every face

not race away the trace

of water winds and air

breaths smogged in time

could clear held dear

hearts and hands

upon the land to heal

all life and fears