habitat

lichen, pond scum and decay
the bog, smelling musty, grotesque, marvelous
belonging wholly to the realm of the Earth

what are we to make
of a habitat of corrupt human beings?

it is just a landscape, a microcosm of the cosmic mind

knowing it as this
a monument of stink
who would place blame?
who would judge or concern themselves?

as nature moves through us
cleansing our putrid wounds
as all things must pass
not even despair can last