Dust To Dust
I like to have a little sawdust on me
To remind me who I am,
Since I came from dust long ago,
Further back than my cells can remember,
Back before they could tell the difference
Between their own kind
And the other kind
And the Other
That they may or may not have perceived,
When trees were shelter and shade,
Clothing and food,
Warmth and seasoning,
Weaponry and tools,
Long before they bowed before us
As product to developer
Or nuisance to improver-of-lands,
Lands that were as perfect
As one can imagine
Before the vain attempt.
I mingle my own dust
With the dust of trees
In the hope that I might join our lives
And make something,
A marriage of species
That bears a wooden child
With a soul like mine.
1.Do you feel a sense of estrangement between yourself and the natural world? If so, what causes that? If not, how have you escaped it?
2.Do you feel connected or separate from your ancestors who lived off the land?
3.If you create art or craft, how do you put your soul into the inanimate object of your art?