I lie on the slope
to feel the curve
of our planet.
Its roundness fulfills
my inmost conscience.
Creator is here.
The earthworms slither
and wiggle beneath.
They are apprehensive no longer.
Stalks of grass pass through
my rags
to knife.
I gush as meat,
ill-rested.
My body sacrificed, yet
this is no factory farm.
Believe this, friends;
we are one.
