It’s 3:23 in the morning
and I can’t sleep
because my great great grandchildren
ask me in my dreams
what did you do while the Planet was plundered?
what did you do when the Earth was unravelling?
What did you do
once
you
knew?
... I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies.
The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, a stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by biologists and antiquarians chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree, which precede flowers and fruit — not a fossil earth but a living earth.