The land knows you, even when you are lost.
She is you.
She never forgets.
Your juices are her juices.
Your flesh is her flesh.
In cold city offices,
In filthy concrete streets,
Dressed in your warmest and heaviest
coats and boots,
She knows you. She greets you
with cool wind in hot places,
with warm sun in cold realms.
She displays her changing beauties
whether you are there to see them or not,
in case you return.
She is one with your pain and your joy.
She teaches your children
small beauties before they know how to learn.
She remembers your people
from before they succumbed to civilization.
She has tasted your blood.
On foreign seas, in strange lands,
her breath travels to greet and remind you
she is there. Her dust will find you across oceans.
Her rain is born in your homeland
and carried to where you are to remind you.
You cannot get so far away that the land
forgets you. You are never so lost
that she will not find you.
The land knows you, even when you
have not put a seed in the earth in decades.
The land knows you, even when you are lost.
You are never lost.