We stand atop your crown this day and we see you, O Mother. We see your bent joints and busted sinew, hips shifted from birth forever changed in the giving of life, we mark these new shapes born from blasted pine, the churned earth of an open grave, a temple reconstructed in burnt nettles, an altar formed by willing bones. We inhale the grease and death of the mines, the hot steel and empty promise of the railroad and we listen to the lies that they tell. These agents of the Inner-Dark, these outsiders, these night-heart shapes that would reach into the breached and ruined gate of us and plant their vile seed, teach our babies from birth that they are only as good as the blood and sweat that can be wrung from them, that their dreams are not more than brittle branches before the furnace of industry and work, O Mother we beg your mercy! O keep or pray and find away to heal the broken hide of our land, O grove and barrens, close around ​them​ and
mislead​ them​, make them understand the true meaning of ​lost​. Sunless hungry soil, O sleeping chasm, O empty, empty belly, be still! Be filled!
We are home!