Let me shake off the dust.
I don\'t know where I end and the land begins.
Red clay and white sand cling to my feet.
There\'s dark mud on my arms and legs.
I have black dirt under my nails.
They say God made man out of the dust of the earth.
No man is complete that does not own a piece of it.
Ah but which ground?
Natives to this land said no one owns it, it is a gift for all.
Blown like a tumbleweed I have no roots and know no fences.
Born on the side of towering peaks, with glacial creeks, and pine forests,
it is there that my primal images sleep in dreams.
Years later, reaching manhood in the tropics,
with its palms, exotic floral fragrances and balmy weather
I found my first love and there resides my heart.
I floated on a thistle on the breeze of hope.
Drifting to the desert and its windblown dunes, that stretch to the horizon,
there I found the mirage of peace.
Disillusioned I abandoned my soul to the sand
The Pacific coast and its mild weather offered an easier life.
Ignoring the price for a forbidden apple, I purchased the seeds of knowledge.
Banished to mortality and earning my keep by the sweat of my brow.
There you will find my mind.
On the plains with its bison and waving grass seas
I plowed fallow ground,
nervously awaiting life giving rains and death dealing tornadoes.
There I sowed, harvested and sold my crop,
leaving behind my sweat and footprints as I trudged to
the frozen north.
In an eternal winter of intolerable cold,
I shivered through long nights, that turned my spirit to ice.
In frozen ground I buried my pride.
Migrating southward, white sand beaches, palm trees and hurricanes, with black mud alligator marshes, anchored my feet to what felt like home.
Digging my toes and heels into the sandy sea bottom, rip tides pulled me away,
the salt from my tears joining its mother\'s currents.
Spirited south, to the rain forest canopies of tropical mountains,
strewn with granite rocks and red clay soil,
the voices of thousands of years are whispered by every moss covered bolder and tree.
Lost with no trails, thick foliage and thorns rip and tear my flesh.
Dirt, baptized with my blood, becomes a philosophers stone changing the inanimate to life.
I, like Osiris, am torn in pieces and scattered over the earth.
I lie in distant places, awaiting Isis to gather my parts.
I am the rock, clay, mud and sand that covers me.
I don\'t know where I end and the land begins.