What is the ground
on which I stand?
Is it gritty asphalt,
a rocky outcrop,
or waterside meadows?
Is it the external forces
that hold me
together,
or the internal
flows that
keep me alive?
Is it what I
touch and
taste, and see?
Or what I
feel and trust,
and believe with a
deeper knowing?
Does it depend on
where I’ve been,
or is it
fresh each day?
Do I have to pay
for the ground,
or is it a gift?
And if a gift,
who is it for?
What is this ground
on which I stand?