By Nici Holt Cline
The human-induced oil volcano in the sea, an anvil on my spirit. I remember the Native American proverb,
We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.
:: :: ::
Margot’s eyes are oil. Dark and knowing, grounded and alive. The espresso moons carry proof of my life.
Margot’s eyes are earth, rich, boundless love. Brown at glance, rainbow hued for those who take time to know.
Natural shine, organic bubbling tucked safe under thick blankets of rock and dirt. Protected, precious, beautiful. Giving, empathetic, supportive.
Where crude means rustic, simple, raw. Margot’s eyes observe all the potential in all of the creatures on all of the planet. Her eyes are powerful, able to move. I like her unrefined.
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