I know how you breathe;
I know how you rustles on 7.83 Hz Schumman resonance;
I know your spaceless love, when you hold me in
enormous gravitational hug.
I know how you like to be cradled in the Milky Way,
I know how disturbed child you were 4.6 billion years ago,
how you didn’t like your first Pangaea face.
I know all about tantrums you had,
until you developed two cheeks, Laurasia and Gondvana
you liked to scratch with your flickering fiery licks,
how you erupt, through volcano horns.
and how you play with sand domes.
I know of your silica wrinkles, blue and green sinews,
running through your granite crust.
I know when you yawn in the rifting zones
in deep waters of Atlantic Ocean,
I know when you subduct your toes beneath
Pacific islands, in rhythmic tectonic motions.
I know your kimberlitic diamond bones,
your asteno-blood that furiously bleeds whenever you’re cut;
I know each secreted gem of your tissue:
layered sedimentary, pressured magmatic
or unsatisfied metamorphic,
about each cocooned crystal.
I know when you are angry or scared,
how you tremble, quake in shocks,
I know when you are not in the mood,
sending razor winds and swirling storms.
I know how you like to wrap me in your green wings
bath me in your silvery tears.
I know you.
You are part of me and I am part of you.
You are everything
I call home.
Maja S. Todorovic