Centered alone in spirit,

Complete in surety of the sun’s rising,

Golden edged clouds precede,

Sharp beams cut through sheltering branches,

Leafless in winter’s mantle of white pure snow,

The Earth-world waits,

Teeming with expectation.

Complexities as diverse as those within the plant-insect domains,

Emerge to seize the creative imagination,

Of those who would see the truth,

Truth as it appears within their limit of knowledge,

Information—ever expanding,

Streaming around the entities with fast-as-light speed,

And broadband encompassing volume,

Devoid of that same quality long revered,

Lacking in preparation or experience,

Shallow beyond all understanding,

We grasp at old men’s ideas of new worlds—false images,

Long since evaporated in what is.

The Earth Community wraps itself together with electronic strands,

While barriers form,

New each day,

To be burrowed under,

Around,

Personally dissected,

Freed in space to be caught by tiny dishes,

Relinking,

Reaffirming,

Human ties that leap beyond language or rules on paper,

Or those screamed on national broadcasts.

Where is the center of the spirit?

Is it alone any longer?