Eratosthenes told me it's round,
a marble, hard granite rock, volcanic rock,
crumbling limestone rock and sandstone rock
from ancient ocean beds,
and still three quarters water.
What I can see is flat,
this hectare ground I stand upon,
see dirt, soft dirt, hard clay.
Earthworms cannot bore through granite rock.
Coastal lava rock hosts anemones and crabs.
I see no crabs nor fish in my back yard,
nore whatles in my neighbor's yard.
I think I've lost perspective though.
I true believe that I can own
a piece of earth that, truth be known, owns me.
Where once I held a reverence for life,
I hold a piece of copper
more dear than love of family or friend.
I die alone, anonymous,
still jealous of accumulated property,
a larger name, recognition
someone else has gained.
I gloat on their ignominy
whey they are fallen.
My vanity will not be satisfied.
I struggle to prolong my life
and disregard my heart and soul,
worry that my footprint won't
be large enough, unknown
to strangers as my legacy.
The world is round,
and time will never end.
If you and I are little more than motes
dancing in a sunbeam from the window -
a smile from the sun or from a God
but from the other side -
then let us dance until we can no longer breathe,
until our hearts give out, our sinews spent,
our bodies glistening in sweat.
Then let us dance, let us rejoice
in one another's presence.
Flat or round just doesn't matter,
ancient sea beds just don't matter.
Embrace with me this transitory moment,
let us with one another celebrate
this flash in time, ephermeal, fleeting, gone,
together let us dance until we cannot stand.
I will rest, and eat, and dance again.
When time is done with me,
I will be free to just let go and die content,
one dance done, the next begun.