To call her my own

Brown—I sink back into this Earth that gave life to me,
surrounded by moist soil and roots trailing off from green
_to yellow to white as they
_stretch their dirty fingers down,
_down to the depths of their nourishment.
I do not claim to know much about this Earth I call
_my Mother, my Home, my Resting Place,
But I do know that she comforts me:
_I hear her sighs in the Rivers and Streams that
_flow in a melodic symphony from here
_to only She knows where.
I feel her footsteps like a drum in my chest as I go
_racing through these forests of time and no matter
_what day, what hour, what minute it is—
_no matter what face I happen to be wearing—
She welcomes me,
spilling endless amounts of warmth from her own fiery,
_molten core
into mine.
She glistens with the eternal youth and fertility of
_a thousand mothers,
_a thousand fathers,
_a thousand lovers,
So that I may allow that same verdant fertility to absorb any troubles
_I may have brought with me.
Brown—I sink back into this Earth that gave life to me in an array
_of her most brilliant colors…
_and I do not have the Audacity
_to call her my own.