I’ve had my head in the clouds so long
I don’t know how to climb back to my body.
In dreams my head is buried in the sand
and I make no effort to lift it.
Down below, somebody who goes by my name
cracks his knuckles and goes to work.
I admire him, how he furrows his brows
and picks his nails. I admire his anguish, what stress
has done to his complexion and mood. He is busy
fighting in ways I cannot fathom, here amidst
the mountaintops and forest canopies, at peace.
But if I reach down and touch his jugular, I recoil
from the rat-tat-tat of his burden, wonder what flowers
he will have saved in time to adorn our grave.
See my prior Earth Day poems: