Earth shall not be saved
by electing this political party
instead of that one.
Earth shall not be saved by erasing our borders
or defending them.
Earth shall not be saved
by defining yourself as a color,
or tracing your ever-dissolving name
on the gender-fluid spectrum between
“girl” and “boy.”
Earth shall not be saved by the Om chant
or the synchronized smile of ten million yoginis.
Earth shall not be saved by an army
of Baptists shouldering the old rugged cross.
By the white-robed avatar returning
in a cloud of glory,
by the rose-garlanded zoom guru,
by the silk-soft voice on the guided meditation app,
Earth shall not be saved.
Earth shall not be saved by the electric car.
Earth shall not be saved by eating hot dogs
made of algae and kale.
Earth shall not be saved by the almighty State
shepherding citizens into high-rise sheep-folds,
each guaranteed an income without working,
each entitled to a rent-free apartment
exactly like everyone else’s.
Earth shall not be saved by us.
But perhaps it can be saved by you and me.
We came into this world alone,
alone we shall depart.
Yet while we’re here we celebrate
aloneness together.
Friend, you shall save the earth
by noticing a single chrysanthemum,
the last in the garden, bent with raindrops,
scented with October light.
You shall save the earth by receiving
this breath, one inhalation
ever so gently cleansing trillions
of cells,
of worlds in your body; one exhalation through your heart
so broken and free, so surrendered
to the feral green rhythms of Grace.
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