A Survivor's Song

Solid soil
is a fool's illusion.
Slipping, shifting,
fusion and dissolution;
the earth beneath my feet
churns, turns,
and slips away.
By quick sand’s
heavy hand
I‘ve come to understand
why they say
“Nothing gold can stay”.
My Tara is me.
I will build and sow;
my words will grow.
I will be the land
that feeds and supports,
even as I hang
upon the vacant ether.