"You are the most miserable person
I know, and I hope never to meet you."
A tree will not say this.
A flower will not say this.
Car may.
Phone may.
A fish will not say this.
A mortician will not say this.
The earth will not speak its thoughts of you
or your misery, incomprehensible as
its survival. The earth is too sick
to speak our misery. Its
God-mind simply
blooms and
cramps
its own
private way.
Unaware we
cry, and smile
at the flowers we
harvest from God's
dying resurrected mind.