the moment my feet touch

the fresh grass of the world

i gain it—

     my attention hyper in superspeed

 

every bird hare hill or tree

around me—and so too

does the nightingale sing

     protecting my shoulder from parent to child

 

i am open to stare

in the whistles for the

greek xenia—

     as she plays the candle of home

 

not nearly as warm as the flame

but stronger than ice dangling from a cave

wherever i wander—

     she comes to my aid

 

she is an ancient entity that

guides and shields—

enhancing my energy so that i may

     sense the sunflower seed, miles away

 

she grants me talismans

gifts to be used to wield

luck and spells—

     for our sacred earth, she whispers,

 

and our people of need

we all have her in heart you see

we just choose to view her as evil

     we must learn to yield.