A Poem for the Earth (who always has the last word!)

How does a fish speak of the water?
How does a bird tell of the sky?
How can I tell you my lungs, my blood?
How can I sing you my breath, my skin?

Do you remember
when soul came together
like rain in a cloud,
a weight in your belly?
Cellular seed of me furling, unfurling
in the rhythm, the rocking
of ocean and moon.

Mother of my existence,
kin of my heartbeat, sculptor of my bones:
What can I say to you but what my body says
as hands flow in praise of you
mouth drinks in need of you
breath churns and returns
to your greenery, blood nourishes
your dark loam?

What can I say to you but to live
in awe of the borrowedness that I am,
to dip the delicate senses you have given me
into the honey,
sucking my fingers?

What can I say to you but to remove my sandals
and caress you with my feet?
What can I say to you but to ask you
to teach me how to grow into more than a child,
to become a contribution
in the vast garden?

I have been on my knees, suckling.
You lift me up.
"Come," you tell me.
"We have work to do."
"You are worthy."
"We begin here."
"We begin now."
Rocking, then walking.
"There is no part of you that is not blessed."

Oh, Earth.
This was meant to be a poem for you.
What can I tell you?
What can I say?

"Did you hear me?
There is no part of you that is not blessed.
Bless yourself. And you bless me.
Bless, bless, bless, bless.
Bless every breath. Bless every death.
Bless every hunger. And every satiation.
Bless beauty. Bless ugly.
Bless what begins. And bless what ends.
Bless your enemies. Bless your friends.
Bless the space between the words. Bless what is and isn't heard.
Bless by resting, bless by doing,
bless becoming, bless the changing.
Bless boldly. Bless gently.
Believe your being you is blessing.
When everything you do is blessing,
come back and sit with me a spell,
in the infinite and silent well."