Fine Balance

Fine Balance

This is the land and these are its people
This is the land and here are its pockmarks and divots
These are the people and here are the homes they have made
Here are the homes nestled into spots between where the land is and isn’t
This is the gone away son
This is the returned home son
These are the never left sons and their songs of the land
This is the owner of that old truck
so old that the land looks at it as a pet insect
This is the mud drying as it tries to become more like the light but fails
This is the light never trying ever to be anything
These are the original trees that the planet was formed around
These are the praying rocks
This is the dust that the people brush from their bodies
Here is the aging town becoming new every twenty-five or thirty years
These are the people and here are the children they give to this place
This is the story of where your body came from and this is not
the only story This is one in the pile One in the millions of piles