The ground, our ground on this round round Earth.
Light and loamy on the surface, getting dense down deep.
Rocks ground down, spinning around in Earth’s blender, made tender, made sweet.
I walk the ground with my feet.
The soil in my toes, dirty little piglets carry me on,
down the rows of the garden, down the paths with wild edges,
past snowberry hedges, dangle off ledges and swing in the air,
then come back to ground to feel the Earth’s care. It’s a wonder we’re here.
On the ground, our ground on this round round Earth.
Dense down deep.