My mother's mothers walked on speaking earth
to hear the soothing croon of healing herbs,
the ever present drum of tree and rock,
moon's messages of year and season's turn.

Within the city's walls I live my life.
I find my friends, my healing mission here.
Earth's heart still beats, though muffled, in our bones;
a blood and breath we need for nourishment.

My skin is infinite and night and day
I feel both concrete and the softest leaf,
my lover's skin and stranger's acid eyes.
My heart digs for the life shared at the roots.

If I hear stars above the growling smog,
wind through the traffic's grumble, leaf's lone plaint
muffled in crowd's dull roar — then I will find
my loam and water under pavement's hold.

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