least corrupted Word

Get your filthy hands off my forests.
Draw your bitter hungry hands
from my rivers.
Take your wretched reasonings
and rapacious policies
from all the little wild things.

I give a damn about your vaunted
economy. What part of that
is in me? How does that serve
my aching heart?

All your history smells of death,
cruel imperialism hidden beneath lies,
and even the touch of the Spirit
you have webbed up in schemes.

I find beneath Cathedral Ponderosa
a silence that terrifies you
I find beside the silent spring
a breath you've never drawn.

The Eagle drops and a fawn falls,
the heavy snows bends a Juniper
that will not straighten in the spring.
The fox finds the nest of the goose.
But you, what have you to say,
when you send boys to kill families
and the flesh is hidden in mass graves?

If I had my way, you would feed the ravens.
If I had my way, carrion beetles
would polish your bones.

Excuse my anger. That is not why I came.

I came to listen. Not to Death, but to the fall
of rain. I came to listen to the grass.
I came to hear the purr of little things
touching, always touching, the Great Mother.

She found me in the forests. She fed me.
She comforted me. She spoke of love.
She opened the door of the mystery
and invited me to see.