An old child, she sleeps smiling in the loam with bright visions of herself blue and green in the void.
Her hands of bark and cellulose grip the heavens and wrests the breath from the wind that laughs through her fingers. Her bosom booms mountainously as she turns in her sleep. Sweet life giving river, her soft scented sweat of Mons, leaps and laps with all sorts of living things. She breathes, and the seasons turn.
Like an inside out body, sweet dreaming Gaia, at her iron’d core reaches out through the rough cloak of mantle and laps at the sky with green alveoli. Like veins that branch out of arteries at the mouths of rivers and the lips of lakeshores, a delicate balance is struck in which beast eats beast until the littlest beast is eaten or the biggest beast is beaten. The photosphere in the sky’s children a-plenty, the photons, grazes at the soft rough tough wild chroma of the planet and bounds away joyfully, transformed at the very amplitude of their being.