The earth sings under the city,
patterns passed through rock and sand,
in slow waves moving,
lore stored in mountains,
riffs originating in the craggy pools
along the shore

All this is known, all this is felt,
nothing made in the last two hundred years
can mar the message —
It goes around the deep holes
we’ve dug in the ground,
it moves beneath the places we regraded

It makes no judgment about these,
for they are minor —
transient as shadows
moving across a day.
The earth sings
her long song
among the stars.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 1, 2015