Of Stones and Roses

Mother Earth, gather me into your arms of gothic cottonwoods and sun-drenched deserts.

Let your kudzu hands lead me, your blossoms of darkness bewitch me.

Bed me down in your green hills, let your haloed moons move through me, your golden suns annoint me.

Allow me to make myself mud and straw, fill in the pits and trenches dug into your flesh.

Allow me to make rosaries from your stones and roses, pray for your survival.

Each morning, I search the highways, wander forests, always searching for the most direct path to your heart.

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