Pine cones are delicious golden sections in conversation with sun.
They open arms to worship Shams, their old dry bones symphonic.
Pine cone prayer takes its time. If we have patience, we will persevere.
Fresh figs split easy in the hand
Inside are tiny humans rooted in the skin
Heads bumping up against other heads
It is the overpopulated world turned outside in
If we lived this way, locked inside the skin of Earth