You can’t separate the river

from the rocks beneath it,

or sunlight from the leaf,

the earth from your bloodstream.

The partitioned oil slick

that sits on top of everything

is not us. It’s a vision.

Oil does not belong here nor

the plastic things we make from it, and liquids:

they do not fit in, at all,

when they are finished; sit

detached in time, unable to die:

mess with our real world’s functioning.

We are different.

We belong to this place. It’s in our nature

to join the world around us to ourselves:

it is our air, our food, our bones and blood.

This place and the way we live:

why should they be separate? The way we live

so much the same: one oily borrowing,

spread across everything?

This place and the way we live

will be joined, and different

as every place is different, each twist and rise

and nook; the things that are around us -

lignin, bracken, wool -

stretched to furnish many needs.

Our waste - food for something else, taken

into the heartbeat of the world that’s living.

We’ll join this sun, earth, water, wind,

to our skin: make of these things a blessed heat

to warm ourselves in winter. Join

the rocks, soil, roots

to our blood, in the food we eat: take in

the light on this landscape.

Breathe.

In, out: give, take.

This is our existence.

Like in nature, each part is needed,

each voice a drop of water in the river

that weaves together rain and sea.

This place will be our place:

this corner, and all the voices, all the life within it.