ecoda

my church is trees and mountains 

my temple:

silence under bright and teeming stars

to find what is holy in humans

i need spaces empty of them

my tribe burns holes

in all they touch

give me instead 

a kinship of owls 

a reverent nation of ants

stately harmless herds

of deer or horses

let moss drink these tears 

which are for us all

let us become small again 

dispersing into green