irrational poets

who call nature their home,

and write love letters 

to the earth—

i’m one of them.

irrational poets,

claiming the heart is the cipher 

to the hidden language of the trees—

I’m one of them.

yeah, I’m one of them.

irrational.

mad, foolish.

i’m all these things and more. 

i talk to the Moon— she talks back. 

i march not

to the beat of my own drum.

i gave that up.

the earth’s heart is enough,

her hidden song

which permeates all.

i hear it— oh, i hear it, 

& i cannot help

but sing along.

brick and mortar: 

i cannot call it home.

but my feet know the feel,

& my gut is a terrible liar.

it knows god’s chapel

is home. have you seen 

its diamond-specked ceiling?

have you sat in its pews

of willows and daisies?

have you heard the choir 

of blue jays and mockingbirds?

do you hear the sermon 

in the winds?

have you shed your burdens

in confession, whispered your secrets

to the mountains,

and let yourself be forgiven 

in the silence?

god’s green chapel 

is a holy place.

yeah—

i’m one of those irrational poets

who call it home.