Recently, I was going to put together a collection called--
and I was going to call it Earth Dweller.
You know, something's happened.
The feeling we have, it's like an option now.
It used to be like an inevitability.
And I realize it's almost inevitable now.
But anyway, there's a different feeling.
"Earth Dweller, The Spaceship We're On."
It was all the clods at once become precious,
it was the barn, and the shed, and the windmill, my hands,
the crack Arlie made in the axehandle,
oh, let me stay here humbly, forgotten,
to rejoice in it all, let the sun casually rise and set.
If I have not found the right place, teach me,
for somewhere inside, the clods are vaulted mansions,
lines through the barn sing for the saints forever,
the shed and windmill rear so glorious the sun shudders
like a gong.
Now I know why people worship, carry around magic emblems,
wake up talking dreams they teach to their children,
the world speaks.
The world speaks everything to us.
It is our only friend.