The poetry of self.

The poetry of nature is the poetry of self.

We are nature eating nature,
wearing nature,
sitting on nature.

To question ourselves and our existence
is to enter the battle
between the snake and the rat,

is to feminize the moon
and masculinize the sun,

is to traverse up the mountain
and swim under the sea.

When we eat an apple
we are devouring
the flesh and bones
of our ancestors;

we are savoring the sweetness
of their souls, their passions, their laughter,

and we are choking on the bitter seeds
of their dispair,
their heartbreaks,
their dreams laid to rest unfulfilled.

The poetry of self
is the song of searching
for the most daunting cliff
and then jumping off,

or the steepest climb
and then pushing upward,

letting the wind and gravity guide you
to the safety of the water below,

or trusting in your feet to listen to the mountain
-for she will tell you the path to take.

The nature of poetry
is the poetry of life;

a pelican stretching his wings to cruise the horizon,
a snake sensing the warmth of a rock below his belly,
an army of ants marching to conquer a pile of ripe, green leaves-

-are all our own selves,
flying with ease,
pulling ourselves over an uncharted course,
finding the materials to build our homes and make our lives
through our conversations
with nature.

-if we should only choose to listen.

The voice of nature
is our own voice,
speaking softly but surely,
and,
even in times of mumbles and stutters,
always using her own, true voice,

and in times of laughter and song,
shouting to all her brothers and sisters,
every tree,
each rock,
all the insects,
the animals, the water, and the sky,

the poetry of self.