Work Text:
how could you tell me the earth does not live?
surely, you've stumbled into the shade of an oak on a summer day,
the boughs of which the earth uses to cast shadows over her skin,
the same way you lay a hand against your brow to keep the sun out of your eyes.
and surely, when you did so, the grass must have been cool beneath your hands,
so you press as much of your body as you can into the dirt,
letting her take some of your warmth from you.
once before, you must have flattened your face against the grass!
the dew would have seeped into your skin, as your own sweat seeps into hers.
and, though i don't blame your if you have not noticed it yet,
for it takes a great amount of stillness;
when your ear touches her silt,
you can hear her heart beating,
her chest rising and falling as she blows a gale onto you,
hoping she's doing enough to keep her child cool in the heat.