Blip. Blip. Blip. Radar.
Forest. Dung-beetle. Where are
We at any time?
Where is the “my” earth?
Selling its secrets to sky?
Rain falls: the way in.
I have truth to give.
It is slightly battered, but
That’s from being held.
Planets are always
Whispering to outer space
“We don’t need the sun.”
Where will weather form
If all there is is topsoil
And no atmosphere?
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