Every scar, scratch, mark and line
All stems from the great divine
The waters gushing rushing down in falls
The reds stained brown on canyon walls
The softly squirming streams of blue
The bashful laughter of lucky few
The strings of light tied to intense heat
The nimble hands and most crafty feet
The valleys scraped in mountain side
The lost art the Earth doth hide
All bear semblance to that divinity
Thine holy source of identity
Alas the vast, beautiful world we see
Erupts from sacred center in “me”