In every shelter there's an out;
One strong backdoor always kept open,
Braving the breezes and barometric dips,
Subtropical dews to cold frosts.
When we wake enlightened, and suddenly see
How outside is not just outside,
We're pulsating cells of wilderness,
Pink organs in weather's white skinfat
Blood swelling in seasons of full tide,
The humid air shaping our lungs,
Souls' clock set by sunfall and moonrise,
Environment's vessel and pore,
Not separated any more
From the root and the green trunk that bends.