This morning,
I salute the earth.

It should be with tambura,
horns, drums, finger cymbals,
and flutes, I know.
I have none of these.

It should be done with dancing:
heels never touching, a toe-tip reel
grounded but striving upward.
I’m afraid to move too much,
terrified of a last-straw-to-this-body tumble.

I can only do it
with nerve and 
a celebratory shiver
in my stiffening limbs.

I can only do it
with hard-found words
in the one language
I manage to speak.

I may only do it
once well,
and the earth may not catch it
except as a stirring
behind its global back,
once.  

Not to salute the earth
breaks a commandment
that was left out, 
perhaps on purpose,
from the Ten…unless
the one about parents
is supposed to include
this honoring of our source,
but most likely
was not meant that way
so, 

I add it.  New commandment:
“Salute this earth
with whatever you have.
Keep it holy as if every day
were a Sabbath.”  Perhaps
it is? Let us find out:

salute the earth in the morning 
every morning, and let’s see
what if anything
our customary God
does about it.