I’ve been invested the last few years in how and why we need new myths and stories for the coming environmental changes ahead, and “Refreshment” is a part of that investigation. I want to believe that there is an almost inevitable return to understanding the ancient connections between mater, matter, and mother, though whether we choose such a return or whether the return comes more violently remains to be seen.
At the confluence the city grew a thousand years,
the last hundred in full view of the sun.
Iron and glass and perfectly mown grass converse in it.
We walk the hills in the evenings.
When in drought we stare from our roofs,
stand in the dust of shaken rugs and linens,
make do with a basket of dandelions,
wait for boats to take us to the headwaters.
Praying by the banks, we’re taught to praise
who’s atop the mountain withholding the source.
How many years till his hands tire?
To whom should we be grateful when it rains?
Somewhere in a basement a girl blinds herself
that she may see clearly the way to the summit.
What’s her name? Can it even be said? One day
she’ll walk the bridge of our hands to the top.
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