Biophilia is described as
a love of life and
the living world
the affinity of human beings  
for other life forms.  

I suppose it could mean
loving everything you can
the sunlight on your face  
insects buzzing in the air
the dusks and dawns
of a hundred summer nights.  

It could mean your love
for your pet fish
for your dog
for the cat that you don't own
but comes up to you every day
and lets you pet it
purring.

Biophilia could mean  
a wish for better
a longing for more
the want for every
single life form to be happy.  

It could mean  
caring for a flower you planted
in the spring with dew holding down  
a million tiny clovers
dotting the lawn.

My heart is weeping in a million pieces
and I don’t think even your breath could
stop my rage; at least
not like the last time.
And there are some nights where it feels like
I just can’t stop crying.
Even when there are no tears,
I just can’t stop crying and giving
my heart out to every single breathing thing.
The Earth is groaning just to the left of my lungs
and your eyes cannot halt the earthquakes of my fingers.
I’m just so ******* lonely that it breaks
my ******* heart to see myself
sleeping so alone.

And yet,
the deluge that my eyes pour forth to flood,
won’t drown the fact that you’re in my blood.

I could live off the evergreen on a weak bet
or a whisper in a library that wasn't for me
I'll take off in the dead of night if it needed to be
without shoes or a backpack if it was necessary

the euphoria of the soil beneath my feet
and the sun feeding me all that I need
a place where the fog will never clear
but is never the symbol of gloom

the trees speak to me in code during the day
and let me know if they do make a sound when they fall
if I stay still long enough I too will be the woodlands
and the woodlands will be me

let the mushrooms grow off my back
and the spiders web between my fingers
petrichor the only fragrance I know
as I spit blossoms on the ground

I'll sit in silence and think of it all
for one thing is certain though:
the biophilia will eat you alive
but the exception is just so

Macroscopia allows a view,
Verdant brilliance, a star's birth.
Yet, our microscopicness ignores,
The atom should not be split.

400 years of supposed "science"
Has stolen the earth's richness,
Michaelangelos from the sky,
Is killing life as fast as
Before last ice age ensued.
Biophilia or necrophilia, choose!

Vie's evolving song is as silent as
A stone's ballad for being's loss.
Yet, manifest destiny rag drags on,
Turtle Island's shell won't cover,
Approaching abyss on the horizon.

Vitae's wail echoes crimson,
As acid rain from your closed
Eye falls, Earth's tears bleeding,
For, all you see is grey.

In the middle of a clearing I am greeted by the damp grass, resting with a stagnancy never known to me before. The moss growing in between my fingernails and toes, embracing my once soft figure.

Welcoming to a new home, unconsumed by modern structures, the ants caressing in my loving arms, covering each blister. The amount of days I have laid here are past recall, but far more than the spiders held in each pocket.

The trees being the only witness to my presence, slightly shading me from rays of the sun that fixate so much on my inflated epidermis. The branches and leaves hiding, protecting me from the concrete and calls.

The shades of purples, blues, and yellows on my body complement the flowers blooming around my ears. My mouth slightly ajar, a surprised expression of not knowing how loud blossoms thrive in such silence.

The bees surrounding my cranium, whispering secrets that had never been told to any other humankind. I speak only in lavender, as my native tongue was dropped along the classified path I took.

The tall grass beginning to clasp around, tying me down as if begging to never let me leave. Slowly swallowing me whole, creating a barrier around my delicate frame, shielding from each rainfall and heatwave undoubtedly to come.

My eyes melt away, not needing the perception to see the world that was so harsh to me anymore, only needing to feel the sympathy it gives me now as it helps with this inevitable  transformation.

Never have I felt an immense sensation of biophilia until it welcomed me with such vigor. The ground I stepped on from birth now providing solace that I could not sought for. The gravel and dirt giving vast compassion when I was unable to ask.

I’m ****** into the land, hidden from the roars of others I once knew. My ears plugged from a name now so foreign to me, to go back to a place that I will never remember, and that will soon forget about me too.

Sometimes we must move
Not shallow gym class work-mimicry
Empty choreography
Planned, timed, synchronised
Movement the purpose, fitness the goal
or health, or presentation
Important, worthy, needed
and yet, a slight, simplistic facsimile
of really moving

Sometimes we must move
Not gentle-stroll-incidental, ancillary activity
Perfect temperature
Sweat-less, shiver-less, comfortable
Sunshine the purpose, restoration the goal
or biophilia, or head-clearing
Cleansing, uplifting, lovely
and yet, orthogonal to the experience
of really moving

Sometimes we must move
For more than moving’s sake
Sincere reverberations
Changing, morphing, building
Action the purpose, elevation the goal
or processing, or releasing
Cathartic, detoxing, rejuvenating
in a way that leaves our world
different than before
we moved

When danger seems a looming steady state
Embrace the energy to scream and run
and channel into moving through the fear
Transmute to new found strength to persevere
To body-work at peak ‘til job is done

To push and pull, to dig, haul up, and scrub
Yield recompense for sweat and pulsing nerves
The world a little better than before
Clearer, cleaner, cared for, kept, and more
And you all terror-spent and panic-purged