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In honor of John Muir

(1838-1914)

By

Lisa A.Williams

Taste the wild

where even the hand

of God

does not desire subjection

only honor;

to find my voice

in the echoes

of ancient stone,

carved by time,

embrace the soul

I have lost in this

“money making machine”

slayer of truth and beauty

whose gluttonous desire

leaves the spirit starving.

To rest, cradled

 in earthly splendor,

shaded beneath

monuments whose roots

hold ages.

                                                                  I need to go home