Earth is congenial to us
because we are all akin.
Indigenous, we belong.
Once seen as a goddess,
the great mother,
she is not beyond,
but a modest planet,
mortal like us,
a natural body,
here and now.
Pregnant, she generates
her own kind of life,
which, being gendered,
jigs, jives with possibility,
evolves over millennia,
emerges in us
with language in our genes,
but kindred spirits still
with a generic likeness
to her whole geo-economy.
The genitive is mutual:
we are hers and she is ours.
Her kind gift, her generosity,
is life: gentle, savage,
jaunty and precarious.
And ours is to voice it back
unceasingly in talk,
song, every genre,
and the answering upsurge
of poetic genius.