Commandment

Originally posted 7/6/2013.

I salute the Earth
this morning,
every morning,

longing to do it
as it should be done —
in community, with others,
with tamboura,
horns, drums, finger cymbals,
and flutes;

knowing it should be done
with dancing, with
heels never touching,
a toe-tip reel grounded
but striving upward;
it deserves no less.

But I am alone,
have no instruments,
and cannot move
as I once did, so
I can only do it
with nerve and
a celebratory shiver
in my stiffening limbs.
I can only do it
with hard-found words
sung poorly
in the one language
I manage to speak.

Not to salute the earth
feels to me as though
I am breaking
a commandment
that was somehow left out:

“Salute this earth
with whatever you have.
Keep it holy through all the days
as if each day were a Sabbath.”

Thus, I salute the earth
in the morning
every morning
and am still waiting to see
what if anything
our customary God
will do about it —
so far, nothing,
but this sunrise suggests
there is no displeasure
on high.