How To Live in Nature

Dig up the moonlight

over the grizzled green plant,

stink weed, grown out of dark loam.

Leap the boulder and run

like a hunted deer.

Stand under the thunder

and yowl a coyote howl

that ripples, like heat

over a dry lake bed

before the annual rain.

Stretch, scratch, fumble

like the slow-moving porcupine

as he rolls along night’s edge,

hunting.

Grunt like the javalina

rooting for food.

Shudder under the eagle,

you small bird, and the hawk.

Let the sun’s hot kiss

ignite the vision

of every place you’ve ever loved.

Be the earth, be the soil

you are made of, the water.

Remember, you come from the dust

of stars.

Photograph by Luna Zeffer