East of the Sun,
West of the Moon,
East of the Sun,
West of the Moon,
from out of the ooze in the mid-ocean trench,
from the solar-deflected cosmic rays,
soaked in blood, dusted in ash,
caked with muck from the rotting forest floor,
swept by crag-cracking arctic jet stream,
cloned by radio waves, head stove in,
lifted in an herb cloud, drenched in hops,
stained by treachery, saved by friendship,
on my last legs but still getting by…
and one of them signed the Declaration of Independence –
trusting that my kids will more than live up to their heritage,
making their home on Planit Oit, spreading their vision
up, out, deep beyond… my ancestors beat the drum,
sang as they walked and worked, listened to the
creatures and the plants under the sun,
listened to the ocean sing,
tinkered with machinery,
and in their proudest moments
passed along the ways to fight disease, hunger, ignorance…
lounging around the fire